The Return of Chaos
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: New challenges await. The sons of the King and the Steward, their heirs, are also heirs to the chaos that has defined the lives of Aragorn and Faramir.
1. Elboron

_Welcome back, my friends, to the show that never ends..., er... well, to the third installment in the triology of the Chaos Series, The Return of Chaos at any rate. It is highly recommended that one read some of either Chaos Theory orShadows of Chaosto understand the general idea of the series. This story is set approximately 19 years after the birth of Eldarion. _

_Without further ado..._

---

"Elboron!"

The young man stopped when he heard that whispered call. It was a voice that he both loved and hated. No… hate was far from it. It was more akin to dread at this point. And yet he knew it was nothing about the other man that caused him to feel that way. It was he himself, he and he alone.

"Your return is late this night," said the other at the back of the stables, still keeping his voice low.

Elboron still had not turned to see him. He just stood there, staring at the straw-strewn floor.

"Is aught amiss?" he was asked.

Elboron only shook his head.

"Then come on!" There was that slight laugh that bemused Elboron.

He hated what he was about to say. "I cannot Harma."

"Are you certain all is well? If you just want to get some sleep, that's -"

Now Elboron did turn, though he did not meet Harma's eyes. "No, Harma, I mean I cannot, not anymore."

"What do you mean?" Harma asked in a quiet voice.

"I mean I… this has to stop." He chanced an upward glance and saw what he knew he'd see: the hurt in Harma's blue eyes.

"When did you decide this?" Harma demanded after a few long, tense moments, this time not sounding so quiet.

"I did not, this is just the way it has to be. If I could do anything about -"

"I don't want your excuses, Elboron. I've only ever wanted honesty from you; until now I've believed that I've always had it. But clearly that is not so."

"Of course I've been honest with you," Elboron said, trying a step closer. "I didn't say this was easy. I will be going soon, though, and I would rather end it this way."

Harma looked purely angry now. "You do not have to go! You know as well as I do that if you but told you father he could -"

"Tell my father! Are you mad? My father adores me, and I him, and if I told him it would destroy that. I cannot let that happen, Harma, I am sorry, not even for you. Likely I would be killing two birds with one stone anyhow."

Harma stood dangerously close to Elboron now, a fistful of his shirt in hand. "Love is not a stone!" he said tersely and landed a punch squarely on Elboron's jaw before pushing him away and leaving the Steward's son to stumble against a stall door, falling in with the horse that had been sleeping until he was intruded upon.

Elboron just lay there for a moment, trying to get his bearings. He knew he deserved that. No, love was not a stone, more like a mountain range. He also knew that it wasn't very prudent for him to mention how much his father loved him, not knowing how Harma's father treated him. But also it was knowing that that made Elboron so afraid that he could do something to lose his own father's love.

Picking himself up and dusting off, Elboron told himself that Harma would cool off and then he could give him a proper explanation. Hopefully it would be before he left for Eriador.

As he made his way through the house toward his chambers he heard his name called for a second time in a whisper. "Bori!" Eldarion called as Elboron passed by. "Getting excited yet?" he asked anxiously.

Elboron simply nodded.

"What's wrong, Bor'?" Eldarion asked. He certainly didn't seem very excited.

"Nothing, 'Dari. Just tired, that's all." Eldarion was only about a year younger than Elboron, but he still tended to treat him as a little brother, instead of an uncle, for better or worse. Sometimes he just felt that he couldn't quite confide some things in his "brother," but then again, what was bothering him now was something that he could not confide in anyone. Ever. Eldarion, after all, was normal. Or maybe not utterly normal, his mumma was an Elf, after all. If anything, Elboron sometimes felt that that made his little brother so much better than him, even if 'Dari never acted that way.

"'Night, Bori, sleep well," Eldarion said, understanding how tired his "big brother" was.

Elboron nodded and went off to his own chambers, but he doubted he'd get much sleep. He lay awake for a few moments before getting up again and gently pushing open the door that adjoined his chambers to his father's chambers. Elboron knew where his father kept medicinal supplies and lit a candle to look for some powdered clove to ease to ache where that punch had dug into his sore tooth a bit. Unfortunately, Elboron knew of no herb that eased an aching heart. Had he done, he would not have used it for himself, not this time.

"Elboron?" came his name in a low tone yet again that night.

"I'm here, ada," Elboron said quietly. "I'm sorry I woke you, I was just looking for some clove."

"You sound like you need it, try the tea and put a little mint in it," Faramir said. "You didn't really wake me, I have not slept well these last few nights."

"Is everything all right?" Elboron asked, glad to switch the subject from his own problems.

"Aye, it is just that I think it may be rather sad for me to go to Imladris again. The last time I was there Mithrandir and Erestor and my daerada were still on this shore." Elboron knew of them only in stories that he'd heard, for he was too young to remember having met any of them before they sailed. "Now we are stuck with the twins and Glorfindel."

Elboron smiled. He certainly did know those three rather well. "We will be visiting the Shire as well, will we not?"

"Aye. I have never been there, but I am eager to see it. Though there is a lot of ducking to be done, and one leaves with either a sore head or a sore back, according to ada."

Elboron chuckled, his ada always made him feel better, no matter what, and it had been that way for as long as he could recall. Elboron's smiled started to slip when he reminded himself that the price of his father's love was Harma's, but he pushed that thought to the back of his mind. Not tonight.

Giving his father a goodnight hug and a kiss upon his brow he said, "I love you, ada."


	2. No Balm in Gondor

The next morning at breakfast Elboron wasn't looking much better than he was feeling. He'd slept, but not much and what sleep he got wasn't very sound. His jaw had some obvious swelling. After a cup of warm clove tea and honey he'd had to admit that he was very tired when he came in the night before and stumbled in the stable, accounting for his jaw. Well, after all, there was no lie there; he'd merely omitted a bit of the story.

When his "uncle" Belthil came in looking like something the cat dragged in it helped take the attention off of himself for a while and Elboron was grateful. Belthil, in actuality Boromir's only (if illegitimate) child and thus Elboron's cousin, was much like his father in that he enjoyed spending his free nights (when he wasn't busy with his duties as Captain-General) in a certain well-known tavern on the fourth level of Minas Tirith. It was easy to lose track of time and lose count of just how many ales one had consumed there, though it always managed to come back to one with dawn's first light.

The breakfast table had become more crowded over the years, but Aragorn entirely refused to take a morning repast in some preordained, echoing hall. The quiet and comfortable room in the King's House was more comfortable for all involved. Many who gathered at that table had blood connections that the public did not know of, even though everyone commented that they were all as a family, and a better "family" than Minas Tirith had seen in the Citadel for many a moon.

No one at the table that morning seemed especially well, with the exception of Eldarion. Elboron's jaw ached and his mind was not on eating. His father was tired, having been busy with travel arrangements and getting his office in order before leaving and then not sleeping well at night for the last several days. Belthil was decidedly hung over, even if he denied it, insisting that he'd just been low on water (which was technically true, after a night in the Merry Widow with all that fine ale).

Even Aragorn was looking exceptionally stressed. Arwen was expecting again, and though he was looking forward to being an adar again, the trip to Eriador embarking the next morning was very well timed indeed as Aragorn saw it. After all, he'd spent a good part of Arwen's first pregnancy on the road and in Imladris, so he deemed it only fitting to do the same for this second time. Pregnant Elves, Aragorn had learned, were an extremely volatile matter.

Belthil would remain in the Citadel with the Queen as he had done nearly 20 years before, while Faramir, Elboron, Aragorn, and Eldarion traveled north to Rivendell and the Shire via Rohan.

The day promised to be rather busy before the group who was traveling north was to set out. Many had last minute preparations to attend to, but Elboron, who was always thinking ahead and as prepared as his father had always been, was already set to go. He had no duties to attend to that day and so was completely free. He would have preferred having something, anything, to distract him. Elboron looked around him at his loving family, those who had been so good to him all of his life, with whom he felt unconditionally loved. That was as it was supposed to be. But Harma did not have that same experience, and it made Elboron wonder if even unconditional love had its limits.

Everyone else had finished their morning meal and were sitting back talking about the trip or heading off to get more things done. Elboron had hardly uttered a word, but with his jaw looking sore and looking so tired no one was really surprised. He decided that what he really needed was some time alone, really alone, something not easily found within the walls of the bustling city. Elboron knew more than most though, like where to find solitude amongst so many, and excused himself from the table.

Faramir gently caught his son's hand as he was rising. "You are certain you are feeling well, son? If you are coming down with something it won't be a problem to stay here a few days until you feel well and then catch everyone up at Edoras."

"I'm not unwell, ada," Elboron promised. "I just need to relax today. I will be fine." Kissing his father's cheek he left to get his cloak, where he was headed it could get rather cool even on such a warm day.

Elboron filled a few canteens; the hike definitely required a water supply. He made his way quickly from the Citadel down to the sixth level. Many called greetings to him as he passed, he was a popular young man, and he courteously waved and nodded to them in response, but he did not slow to talk with anyone as he sometimes would. Elboron passed the porter of the Closed Door and was merely waved by. He followed the winding path with the high walls that lead to Rath Dinen, but he did not remain there. At the back of the House of the Kings was a less than provisional path up the almost impossibly sheer rock wall that was Mount Mindolluin.

Though it would take the better part of the day to get up the slope and he probably wouldn't make it back down again until quite late in the night, Elboron was counting on the hike itself being something of a relief. There was a high place up on the prominence that one could look out from and see from Rauros all the way to Pelargir, provided one had good eyes. It was a calming and therapeutic place to Elboron, much as it often was to his daerada when the responsibilities of the kingship got to him, though Faramir preferred to take his holidays in Emyn Arnen and visiting the Elves of Mirkwood who had relocated to Ithilien. Aragorn had told Elboron that it was in that high place that he'd found the new tree which stood in the Citadel, and so Elboron had always associated the place with hope for the future.

Elboron made good time and had reached the High Hallow before the sun was half-way through its westward track. He wasn't sure how long he would stay, but he reckoned if he started down just after watching the sun's setting rays give brilliant color to the walls of Ephel Dúath he could get home and still get in a few hours sleep before dawn. Setting his pack up to the ledge, and pulling himself up, he looked out over the land and felt that he must be at the very top of all of Arda. The view was breathtaking (considering the air was a bit thinner so high up). He recalled going up there as a young boy with his grandfather and watching the sunset paint what once was Mordor's "outer fence," camping there, and watching the sun rise the next morning. He did regret, however, that staying till sunset would not leave him time to try to talk to….

"Harma?" Sitting on the ledge up ahead was a figure that Elboron knew almost better than his own. Elboron found himself glad that he'd brought his cloak, though it was not the wind that chilled him, but Harma's icy blue glare. Ai, Harma certainly had cooled off indeed, though to Elboron's eyes it was plain that that glare was forced. He saw all too well just how Harma was truly feeling, the redness that contrasted those cobalt eyes confirmed it well. Elboron took a deep breath – the ache inside him was exactly what he'd been trying to get away from, but then again, at least now he would have that chance to explain things properly.

It took Elboron a few moments to gather his thoughts, he'd not been expecting this at the moment, and certainly not up in the High Hallow. "Harma, I shouldn't have said what I said in that way. I didn't mean to -"

"Didn't mean to what? Hurt me? Lead me on? Give me the impression that you ever gave an orc's damn about me?" Harma spat bitterly.

Elboron flinched at that tone. "I was actually going to say that I didn't mean to intrude. I had no idea that you came here, but I understand why you would. After all, I'm here too."

"I'll go then," Harma said in a much quieter voice.

"No, you were here first. I… I should leave… if you prefer."

"It's not necessary," Harma said unemotionally.

Elboron nodded and sat back against the rock wall, without having moved any closer. He knew that he'd never find the solace he sought there now, but he understood that he couldn't just leave either. That would only make things worse. "It's incredible, all that one can see from here," he observed after the silence had gotten deafening.

Harma did not respond.

"It's hard to believe that only just before we were born no one could see the sunrise this close to Mordor."

Again, Harma said nothing.

Elboron sighed. This was how it was to be then, not even a working friendship retained. The silence continued for some while longer, Elboron looking out over the vast landscape of Gondor. He wanted to be bitter, he wanted to hate the fact that it was Gondor that prevented him from living life as he wished to, but Elboron knew all too well that it wasn't that. It was himself, he knew, his fear that held him back.

"I owe you a proper explanation," Elboron said sincerely at length. He glanced up when Harma still did not respond to him and only then noticed how those sinewy shoulders were trembling fiercely. Elboron got up and took his cloak over to Harma, thinking that it was the chill in the air making him shiver. As he went to put the cloak about his shoulders, though, Harma pushed his hands away.

"Don't," he said in an unguarded voice. "Don't. If it has to stop, then stop it. I can't, so don't make it any harder, please."

Elboron was cursing himself for holding back when he should have been holding Harma. But he did hold back and sat down again, apart from Harma. "I am sorry for this. If I could change it, if I could… be someone else, I would."

Harma considered not responding again before he said softly, "I wouldn't want you to be anyone else. Nor would your father. I shouldn't be angry with you, I'm not really, but I know that you have certain responsibilities that I can't… I know I can only cause you trouble. I know all I am good for."

Elboron had been feeling a bit relieved to hear that Harma understood his reasons, until those last few words struck him like an arrow from behind. "You cannot say that. You cannot, Harma, do you hear me? That isn't true at all, it never was."

"In you I found someone who made me believe that it was not true, I will never forget what you did for me," Harma whispered.

"Well, don't stop believing it now. Just because I am not at liberty to… do as I wish, that doesn't mean that you should stop trusting in yourself. That would be the worst thing you could do to me."

At that Harma pulled his arms in close to himself and shuddered deeply. "I love you so much, Elboron." He took a ragged breath. "I tried so hard to never say that to you, but now I know how it's to end, I had to let you know. I hope you are lucky enough to find someone who understands you, what hurts me the most is thinking of you as not free to do what makes you happy."

"I was lucky enough, Harma. I loved you, too. It's just that I can't anymore." Elboron met Harma's gaze for a moment before they both found it no longer bearable.

Harma rose and started toward the path back down. "Goodbye then. I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you, too," Elboron said, but Harma was walking away and didn't appear to hear him. It was not exactly the refuge he'd been counting on that afternoon.


	3. Fathers and Sons

For a few moments Elboron watched as Harma made his way unsteadily down the tricky pathway. Regret overwhelmed him as he moved away toward the back of the Hallow. As he curled up and stared out over the golden-hued landscape, Elboron couldn't repress the feeling that he'd made a terrible mistake.

Shaking his head he told himself that he could no longer indulge whims, that he'd had his fun but that the time had come for him to place his duties first and to conform to the normal way of doing things. Elboron felt that he needed to embrace his maturity, or at least to get used to the responsibilities he held as the Steward's son and heir. If it meant giving up some of his preferences, then he would just have to do so. Certainly, he could do it for himself because he had to, but it had hurt him so to see the hurt it caused Harma.

Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Elboron felt the lofty chill wind blowing in his face, causing his eyes to water. But turning his back to the wind did not help, the tears still slipped down and the ache in his chest still burnt him. He knew as surely as anything that he loved Harma and suddenly wondered why he should have to give that up. Elboron was not fool enough to think that love always lasted or worked out as one wished; he knew that his own nana and twin sister had died when he was a baby and that his ada still bore that grief. But now he wondered why he should have to end something so prematurely. Maybe it would have turned out that his father wouldn't have been devastated and shamed. Maybe he and Harma could have been happy together for a long time.

But no, he told himself, it was just wishful thinking, and that was not the way of things. Elboron closed his eyes and wished dearly that there was someone he could talk to who would understand this. Of course, there was not, and so he just lay there, high above Minas Tirith, alone and sad.

Elboron woke shivering in the night. Sitting up he realized that he'd fallen asleep up on the mountain's outcrop and now had to make his way down the path in the darkness. Looking to the moon, half of which was directly over his head, he knew that he needed to move quickly, but one had to be quite careful on the downward route. Taking a deep breath and wishing that he could stay up on Mindolluin for the rest of his days, Elboron carefully started his way back home.

The sun was just beginning to tint the eastern skies when Elboron finally set his feet upon ancient Rath Dinen. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath before heading home, sinking down against the wall at the back of the House of the Kings. Perhaps it was for the best that within a few hours he would be departing on an extended journey north. He didn't think he could deal with staying in the City and had there been no journey planned, he almost certainly would have headed off to Emyn Arnen for a while. Maybe time away would be just what he needed to straighten himself out.

Pushing himself to stand up and keep moving before he fell asleep again, Elboron noticed something out of the corner of his eye. It looked like someone laying there on the ground. Leaning in closer, Elboron sighed deeply, though he was not surprised. He knelt beside Harma's sleeping figure, his chest clearly rising and falling, assuring Elboron that he was all right. Gently, he placed a hand on Harma's shoulder. In a moment his hand was covered by Harma's, who had not yet opened his eyes. "G'night, 'Bori," Harma murmured, mostly in his sleep.

For a moment Elboron considered waking him but, seeing that little dream smile on Harma's face, he thought better of it and let him dream. It was truly the least he could do after he'd broken his heart. "Good night, Harma," Elboron whispered, pressing a soft kiss to those lips. "Please never doubt that I did love you."

Choking back what he felt, Elboron made haste back to the Citadel. The sun had risen by then and he would not have enough time to do aught but have a hot bath and get ready to depart. That hot bath was most needed though, and Elboron lingered until the water was nearly cold as he wished the water would wash away his woes.

A knock at the door adjoining his chambers to his father's chambers stirred Elboron from his thoughts. Rising from the lukewarm water, Elboron's legs ached and he knew he would have a miserable time in the saddle. Wrapping his robe around him and grabbing a towel he went to open the door, knowing his father would wonder where he had been all night.

Faramir did look concerned, but decided against inquiring. Elboron was a full-fledged man and, much as Faramir hated to admit it he still understood that his son needed his own space. Instead Faramir offered to share his breakfast with his son, having elected to take the meal privately, as his father did with his youngerson and expectant wife. It was perfectly obvious to Faramir as they ate and talked about the journey that Elboron had not slept well, having spent many such nights himself he knew the signs distinctly. Elboron looked like he'd just spent a month in Ithilien, as it was in Denethor's days.

Finishing his repast quickly (he was quite hungry), Elboron kissed his father's cheek, mostly out of habit, and hurried to get dressed for the road, promising that he would meet his father in the entrance hall. As Elboron dressed and took up his packs, glancing over his apartments for anything he might have forgotten, he realized how much he wished he could talk to his father about Harma. For years father and son had shared everything, but now he felt so isolated, only adding to the aches he was already feeling. Shaking his head, Elboron told himself it was just another reason why he had to make himself change.

Stepping out into the hallway, Elboron saw the royal family coming out of their chambers, King and Prince weighted down with travel gear, Queen weighted down with child, and he waited to walk with them. "Good mornings" were exchanged before Arwen said, "Elboron, I grant that I have lived amongst Men for rather few of my years, but is it not customary to wear riding boots when setting out?"

Elboron looked confused for a moment before realizing that he hadn't actually bothered to put his boots on. Laughing at himself, Elboron said, "your pardon, my lady, I didn't have as much sleep last night as I should have had."

Arwen smiled tenderly, "I understand entirely, I can take your packs downstairs for you."

"Nana!" Eldarion protested before Aragorn had the chance to. "I will get them 'Bori, never mind what nana says, ada told me she said things like that all the time before I was born."

Arwen fixed her husband with a demandingly curious look. Aragorn's only defense was to kiss her cheek quickly and insist that they go on ahead and he would be with them shortly.

Elboron ducked back into his chambers and Aragorn followed. A hand on Elboron's shoulder gently turned him round. "Are you feeling well, Elboron?" Aragorn asked.

"Aye, daeradar, I am perfectly well. I… it's just that I haven't been getting enough sleep I think," Elboron hedged, though there was no lie there.

Aragorn nodded. "I have experienced that more times than I can count. I promise that I will do my best _not_ to live up to reputation for being difficult to travel with. For once I want to prove that I can get my companions to Imladris without thoroughly exhausting them along the way."

Elboron smiled pulling his boots on and bending to lace them. His uncle Gimli often told what an incredible nuisance Aragorn was to have to travel with during the War of the Ring. It made for hilarious circumstances when his uncle Legolas contradicted every word from the dwarf's mouth, insisting that he had felt that Aragorn could have sped things up quite a bit, had they not been slowed by a grousing dwarf.

Much had changed in Gondor since those days, however, and now the people no longer even questioned whether it was right for both the King and Steward to be gone from the City at the same time. There was a degree of dispute, however, as to whether the King and Steward, as well as their respective heirs, should all travel together at once, especially without an armed escort. Aragorn would not put up with the notion that since his coronation he had lost his ability to safeguard his traveling companions – he'd been acceptable enough to for the Fellowship, and by the Valar, no one would tell him he wasn't good enough to guard his own family!

Crowds began to gather as the four riders descended through the city. People cheered and shouted wishes for a safe journey for their leaders and their heirs. Elboron wore a mask of a smile, the one that all those high enough up in leadership wore intuitively, regardless of what they were feeling, and the same one that Aragorn had only just mastered after the past twenty years of trying.

Elboron's carefully constructed mask fell apart when he happened to glance over his shoulder at those standing along the ramparts one level up. Harma stood there amongst them, looking utterly defeated and thoroughly wounded. Elboron could do naught but watch and fight the rush of emotion as Harma turned and hurried away, pushing through the crowd. Suddenly Elboron felt cold and empty inside, and that was the worst feeling yet. He felt nothing, he was numb, and did not even feel human in that moment. He found himself grasping for any feeling, even that burning, stabbing ache was better than nothingness.

"Bor'?" Eldarion said quietly. The Prince had moved to ride closer to his "big brother" when he saw the void expression in his grey eyes.

Elboron smiled back weakly, he was clearly becoming much too obvious and he couldn't allow that. This, as he saw it, was his battle to fight, and much as he would have loved to have someone else's help and support, he felt that he had to pass this test alone. "I'm just tired 'Dari, don't worry about me," Elboron said, thinking it best to keep his replies consistent. He knew, sooner or later, he would have to "catch up on his rest." He only hoped that he would be ready to deal with his obligations by then.

The procession through the City was an ordeal and he often wondered why he and his family couldn't just come and go like ordinary people. What was it about them that made all of Minas Tirith want to stand there and stare at them as they went by? It was a little better as they rode out over the Pelennor, for the most part farmers wouldn't exactly come running to see four people riding off. Those who saw them would bow, some would even kneel as the King passed, but they wouldn't swarm them.

By the time they made it out to Grey Wood, Elboron was really starting to feel the effects of not having enough sleep. He felt like strapping himself into the saddle and taking an upright nap. It was a practice that was well known to mounted soldiers for many years, though it had always been much too dangerous in the past, for one never knew when one's company would be set upon by the spawn of Mordor, and to be bound to one's saddle in such an event was practically a guarantee of death.

Still, Aragorn was certain to make good on his promise to take the journey at a relaxed pace and to allow for plenty of rest. He decided that they would make camp at the base of Amon Din for the night, though the sun would not be set for nearly another hour. Aragorn reckoned that the luxury of lighting a fire, cooking, and setting up camp while it was still in the light of day was something that a Ranger might have to pass on that a King did not.

Elboron and Eldarion offered to fetch firewood while their fathers took care of the hard work – trying to set up a pavilion, which would have been nothing had they spent more years as ordinary soldiers rather than Rangers who vehemently eschewed such flagrant symbols of rank. Naturally, being such resourceful men as they were, they had the tarred canvas strung up rather quickly and they stretched out waiting for their sons to return.

Aragorn lit up his pipe and Faramir just lay quietly for a while, enjoying the freedom of being away from the City and back under the trees. Faramir sighed deeply and turned toward his father. "Have you noticed that Elboron has not been himself of late?" he asked.

"Aye," Aragorn said, attempting to puff out a smoke ring only to end up swallowing a bit of smoke and choking on it.

Faramir rolled his eyes, passing a canteen to his father. "You take a year from your life, ada."

"Hannon le," Aragorn said, between gulps of the water, "but you begin to sound a lot more like _my_ ada."

Faramir smiled, saying "who do you think I learned it from?"

"As expected," Aragorn grumbled.

"Right… but about Elboron -"

"I doubt you should lose sleep over it, Faramir. He has been pushing himself too hard of late – not that I have any notion where he might have gotten _that_ habit from – but I think too that it might simply be a symptom of growing up."

Faramir sighed. "Well, I had thought that as well. I know he needs his own space now, and I certainly would not deny him that. It's just that…"

"You miss him being a little boy as dependent upon his father as his father is upon him?" Aragorn offered.

"More or less, I suppose. I think, though, that I perceive more to it. His heart seems to be burdened," Faramir said.

"He still loves you more than anything, Fara'," Aragorn assured. "Do not fear that. He just needs to discover who he is, and that involves testing new waters."

"Aye, I know it, I just hate to see him swim away."

"I think this journey is exactly what he needs. Both of our sons are much too sheltered. By the time I was their age orcs feared my name." Faramir gave his father a strange look at that statement, causing Aragorn to laugh. "Well, of course I do not mean that exactly. I, too, am thankful that they have grown up without such burdens. Their world is entirely different and I think that they shall both have a fine chance of realizing their heart's desires in much easier ways than you and I had to."

"I hope they do. I just hope that Elboron never faces the doubts I contended with for so long," Faramir said using his arm as a pillow, certain that he would fall asleep before the boys came back with enough firewood for the night.

Faramir did not see the regretful expression on Aragorn's face that alluded to the 36 years he had allowed another man unsuitably to raise his son. "He could not," Aragorn said quietly. "He knows how much his father adores him."

"He reminds me so much of Boromir at times," Faramir mused of his son. "He always has."

That, Aragorn thought, was the one thing that he had allowed himself reprieve for: had he taken his baby boy from Minas Tirith at his birth, he would not have had the chance to grow up with Boromir. For as much as Denethor despised Finduilas's second-born, Boromir's love for his little brother easily outweighed that.

Before too long the younger men returned, both carrrying heavy armfuls of fallen timber. Elboron, for as absent as he'd been of late, took one look at the tent and knew that was not how it was supposed to look. "Ada...?" he asked curiously, "Where are the poles?"

Faramir and Aragorn exchanged confused looks between themselves and what they thought was a perfectly fine rendition of a pavilion, before they both realized that there were indeed supposed to be poles, not a tree branch, supporting the structure and that, moreover, neither of them had thought to bring them.

"Oh... those poles..." father and son said in unison, looking a bit sheepish.


	4. Harma

That night in camp Elboron seemed to be feeling a little less downhearted, much to the relief of all. He felt confident now that he would be able to tame his feelings and he was glad that his family no longer seemed quite as worried about him.

However, as Gondor's four most important men bedded down for the night under the legendary beacon's hill, Elboron could see the light from the City in the distance. With it came the reminder of what he was leaving there and again his heart felt heavy – he just could not shake that sense that he was making a dreadful mistake. He wrapped his cloak about himself and tried to put it out of his mind enough to allow himself the sleep he so needed.

Elboron slept quite well enough, even if his dreams consisted of naught but Harma's hands, lips, and eyes that whole night. He still could hear echoes of Harma speaking his name, and the way his voice sounded when he'd admitted that he loved him the night before up on the High Hallow. He could near Harma whimpering and it stabbed at his heart even in his dream. Elboron's heart still weighed when he woke, but he did his best to ignore it. The sooner he and his family were out of the sight of Minas Tirith, the sooner he felt he could begin a new path.

--

As Harma hurried away from the rampart, unable to bear to watch Elboron's departure, he found himself looking around and only being reminded of what he was losing with every sight. Everything about the city made him think of Elboron in some way, for the Steward's son was so involved in every aspect of it.

Deciding that the best place to go would be a quiet, familiar place, Harma made his way up to the stables. Sitting on a bale of hay in one of the unused stalls, he was left alone for quite some while with only an occasional nicker of some bored horse to break the silence. This place, most of all, reminded Harma of Elboron, and though it hurt to think of him now, it was still something of a comfort. At least one person had found him good enough, if only for a while.

Naturally Elboron had made it seem as though it was none of Harma's fault that things had to end as they did, 'Bori had a tendency to take blame for things he should not have when it could spare someone else. Harma knew, though, that it was he who was not good enough, was not what Elboron needed him to be. Taking a deep sigh he told himself that Elboron would be away for some time, maybe half the year, and that that was plenty of time for him to set aside his feelings and move on. Maybe, he thought, if he put his energies into changing he could find a way to become something his father approved of.

Ah, but that thought only added to the anguish Harma was already in, and once again he was pushed beyond the edge, breaking down into bitter tears. His head buried in his arms effectively muffled Harma's sobs of "I love you, Bori'," as agony shot through him.

Harma sat there in the stables undisturbed for the better part of the day until men began to return from their errands with their horses to be stabled for the night. By then his facial muscles actually ached from crying and his voice was rough. He stood though, and tended to his duties.

Years earlier, Harma's father had pushed him to go into Gondor's military forces and expected that his son would make the Citadel guard, but Harma had never wanted it. His trainers and captains could see that plainly and took pity on him, seeing that he was assigned to a civilian position that he would enjoy. It was clear that Harma had quite a gift when it came to horses and so he was given charge of the stables on the sixth level.

At first Harma had been terribly ashamed that he hadn't lived up to his father's expectations, and had nearly pled with Captain Bergil to allow him to prove himself, but that was before he'd seen their kindness for what it was. He knew he would have been miserable as a guard, continuously judged and weighed up, but horses did not behave as men did and the only judgment they made was whether one cared for them well or poorly.

Harma's father had not seen it the same way. Nor had many of his peers.

Elboron was the exception. He, too, had taken the training, but simply because he'd wanted to "see what they knew," for his father and grandfather had taught him better than anyone else in Minas Tirith could have when it came to the sword and bow. After his training was "complete," however, Elboron had gone straight back to working with his ada and daerada in whatever capacity he was needed. So Elboron had not thought poorly of Harma in the slightest, for he too had no desire to be in Gondor's illustrious militia.

With his duties complete for the night and utterly no wish to go back home any time soon, Harma decided to just drown his sorrows and forget until morning. For that he proceeded to the infamous Merry Widow, an establishment in the fourth of Minas Tirith's seven levels within which few of the moralities held by the majority of the City by day were any consideration.

That's not to say that it was unhygienic in any way, the Merry Widow was, in actual fact, one of Minas Tirith's highest quality inns. It was just that within the confines of that particular building, nothing was prohibited and one checked ones established social values at the door. That was simply as it was and it was not protested - no ill thing ever came from the presence of the establishment, and it was generally thought that it was for the better that there was a sanctioned environment for people of certain indulgences to slake their needs. In the dark years before the King returned to the throne, the Merry Widow was patronized almost exclusively by soldiers seeking reprieve from their increasingly dangerous livelihoods. Furthermore, many were those who visited the Widow simply because it boasted Minas Tirith's finest ale available to the public.

So there Harma found himself losing himself in tall, frothy mug after tall, frothy mug. About the time he was just starting to forget all that had gone on the last few days, one of the waitresses came over to take the most recently emptied mug from Harma's table.

"Harma," Níniel said softly, sitting next to him, "do you think you could escort me home?" She had been concerned for him, he had seemed so downhearted when he came in and now he had nearly drunken himself to oblivion. It was not like Harma at all, for he rarely came in for anything more potent than fresh water. Yet he was well known to the women who worked in the tavern, for he would often escort them back to their homes at the end of the night so that they would not have to walk alone.

Harma did not respond for a few moments, worrying Níniel all the more. He seemed completely absorbed in his thoughts. "Harma, are you all right? I need someone to walk me home now." She knew he'd had too much ale and wanted to get him to leave the tavern before he fell ill.

"'M fine, 'cell'n't," he mumbled incoherently. "Sum'n else'll take y'… don' wandt t'go 'ome t'night."

"No, Harma, I mean _my_ home, not yours."

"Nod in'est'ed 'n 'at," Harma said with something that nearly resembled indignity as he stood up and almost fell over the table as he stumbled his way out into the street.

He was followed out by several men, one of whom took him roughly by the shoulder and gave him a shove to the ground, eliciting hoots of laughter from the rest of them. Harma staggered to feet again and rounded on the man who was a good deal bigger than he was. But Harma's judgment was severely impaired and now he was angry, and he landed a punch harder than was expected by either man.

The bigger man's eyes flashed dangerously as he saw the red on his fingers where he'd touched his lip. The other men moved to block Harma's retreat. "Not wise, runt," the other man growled. "We weren't going to hurt you, much, but now I guess we have to."

Harma was ready to fight but was suddenly pushed back into the other men, who grabbed him and held him fast. Harma choked on a filthy rag that was stuffed into his mouth as they dragged him down a nearby alley. "Me an' these boys been thinking…" the forceful man snarled in his ear. Harma would have made an ill-advised comment about that, had he not been gagged and had the combination of the gag and the man's breath reeking of alcohol not been making him physically sick. He was far too inebriated to realize the situation he was in until he was shoved against a wall with such force that he could feel his nose bleeding from the impact. "We don't want you anywhere near any of our horses anymore… 'fact, we don't want you in the stables at all anymore."

Harma tried hard to fight back when he felt a forceful hand running over him but he found that he was suddenly lightheaded and sick and couldn't coordinate his movements. It only worsened a moment later.

Finally he gathered his strength and tried to scream for help but only choked further on the gag and vomited, much to the amusement of his assailants. The gag had fallen to the ground but they had done their worst by then and threw Harma to the ground, spitting on him and quickly fleeing the scene. It wouldn't have mattered, for he could not speak and only gasped for air after the last man had taken an iron hold of his throat.

Laying there on the cold, hard, dark, deserted back way, hot tears of pain and shame slipped out and burned their tracks down Harma's face. He tried to get up and not think of what had just happened, but he could not, and falling back down heavily he was sick again and could only whimper, "Elboron!" before he lost all consciousness.


	5. Search and Rescue

With the light of early morning came the stable lads as promptly as ever. Mornings were the busiest time for them, feeding and watering the horses, tacking them up for their riders and so on. Once the morning duties were completed the stables were often quiet until evening when riders started returning, and even then it was just a matter of getting the horses settled for the night and often times Harma would give the lads the rest of the day off after morning.

The boys got to work right away, even though their "captain" was not to be found. It was highly unusual for Harma not to be there for the morning work unless he let them know the day before that they'd be on their own the next morning. He'd even been there to personally see to the riding arrangements for the King and Steward and their sons, despite the fact that he had looked rather unwell that morning. Of course, it helped somewhat that both King and Steward had a habit of insisting that they pack their own horses, an old Ranger's habit that they hadn't let rest.

The boys worked with their usual alacrity until it was time to break for lunch. A few of them decided to pay a call to their captain at home, thinking that he must have been convalescing from a bout with some illness. However, Harma's father told them in no uncertain terms that he had not been home in three days.

The boys started to head back to the stables wondering where in Arda their "captain" could have gone, when one of them said, "do you think maybe we ought to try to find him?"

"Captain was in the City yesterday, and he must've taken care of the horses last night," said another of the boys. "I don't expect he could've gone too far."

"I don't think he was feeling well, d'you think he's in the Houses?" one offered.

"Let's find out," said the first lad. "If he's there and the nurses let us, we can visit him and let him know we will take care of everything till he's better. But if he's not there we need to find him. I just don't have a good feeling about it."

"Neither do I," a few of the other boys murmured.

They went to the Houses to inquire of Harma and found themselves standing there waiting for someone to go by. At length a healer finally came through the front hall.

"Good morning, lads," he said pleasantly. "Is all well?" None of them looked particularly unwell or injured.

"Good morning, Captain Damrod," the boys said variously.

Damrod smiled affectionately. He'd never been a captain at any time in his life, but that never seemed to matter with these lads, to them anyone who had already gone through training was automatically a captain. Certainly it mattered no less to them that he hadn't done anything relating to Gondor's army since the War and had been a healer for nearly 20 years.

"Has Captain Harma been here?" one asked hurriedly.

Damrod thought for a moment. "No boys, I've not seen him since last night when he was closing up the stables. Was he not there this morning?"

They shook their heads. "His ada said he'd not seen him in a few days," one boy recounted. "He'd seemed unwell yesterday, so we thought he might be at home resting or here. We thought that if he wasn't here we maybe better look for him."

Damrod looked concerned and nodded gravely. "You should seek for him indeed, boys. If you find him, even if he seems well, will you please bring him here to the Houses."

The boys agreed and hurried off in search of their "captain." The sixth level was easily searched as it was much more upscale, much less crowded and with fewer back ways. Only one of them was brave enough, however, to go to the Silent Street to search. The only thing he found there was a small silver ornament wrought like the symbol of the White Tree.

The lads then searched about the fifth level of the city, finding nothing at all. It was not until they went down to the fourth level, some of them not even permitted by their parents to go lower than the fifth, that they found their beloved captain. There was a grimy alleyway that led back from the main street near the Merry Widow tavern, a decided location of curiosity for most lads their age. It was a shadowy way even by day, not at all the sort of place children should be loitering.

For a moment they hesitated, peering into the shadows and trying to discern whether there was something there in the path or not. It could just as easily have been someone's dog seeking a cool place to nap. Mustering their courage, a few went trepidly forward, then suddenly stopped still. They ran back out to the corner where those less brave were waiting. "It's him! Come on, we've got to help him, he's sick."

They tried to wake Harma, but it seemed that he was too ill to grasp what they wanted, only groaning and trying feebly to shift about. He did not even realize that they were trying to help him, for he seemed to be trying to get away from them.

One of the boys ran out to the street and asked a nearby soldier for help, saying that there was a sick man in the alley who needed to be taken to the Houses. Seeing who it was there, the soldier hesitated for a split moment before hooking an arm under Harma and lifting him up, hurrying to get him up to the Houses of Healing. It was generally thought unfair, if not completely improper, that Harma had been trained as a soldier of Gondor, but then given a civilian position after completing the training.

When they arrived at the Houses, Damrod was waiting near the entrance and immediately led them to a chamber that he'd had prepared. "Thank you, I will see to him," Damrod assured the worried boys; the soldier had already departed back to his post on the fourth level.

"Will you tell us when he wakes?" one of them asked.

"I will let you know. If he is well enough you may visit later, but just now he needs some care," Damrod said. The boys took the hint and went back to the stables, hoping to wait until they had word.

Damrod began to remove the unclean clothing from the younger man when his assistant entered with some supplies. Despite obviously having been sick, Harma had no signs of fever, in fact, he was much too cold. A fire was kindled in the hearth, even though it was quite warm outside. Harma continued to struggle weakly until a bowl of healing herbs was brought near him and he settled into a peaceful sleep. Damrod's assistant bathed Harma with the infusion while Damrod took care of the scrapes on Harma's face and tried to assess the marks on his neck.

Something serious had clearly befallen the young hostler and it had rather upset Damrod. In the years after the War, as Damrod had taken up the healing arts, he had watched Harma grow up on the sixth level. Harma often incurred numerous scratches and minor injuries, as young boys will, but what was different about Harma was that, instead of running home to his ada, he often came to find Damrod in the Houses. Over the years, Damrod had come to take quite a liking to the shy child.

For some while Damrod sat with Harma, having done all he could for his immediately symptoms. As Harma began to wake in unfamiliar surroundings he felt panicked for a moment, when he felt a touch on his shoulder he tensed up, too afraid to look to see who was there. For the briefest moment he hoped against hope that that was Elboron's hand and that these were his chambers. A familiar voice, which was not Elboron's, dispelled that hope, but also diminished his fear.

"How are you feeling, Harma?" Damrod asked concernedly. "Do you think you can take some tea?"

Harma felt tired and his thoughts were foggy, but he was desperately thirsty and nodded for the tea. After a few sips of the reviving liquid Harma's eyes cleared and he seemed more coherent.

"Do you have any knowledge of what happened to you?" Damrod asked, hoping that Harma could provide some information that would help him ensure the proper treatment.

For a moment Harma just lay there trying to go back past the blackness he'd just come out of, unsure of how he had ended up in a room in the Houses of Healing. He shifted a bit in the bed, there was a soreness that ached him and he tried to budge his weight off of it. Suddenly that brought it back to him, what had happened after he left the Merry Widow. He looked like he'd gone sick again and Damrod could tell that he remembered something all too well, but Harma just said, "no… I don't…." His voice rasped and Damrod knew right away that there had been some internal damage to his throat.

"All right," Damrod said softly, "do not speak just now." He took the cup of tea and made another brew that would be more beneficial to the throat. Damrod had no hard evidence, but it certainly appeared that someone had done this to Harma, these sorts of injuries were not accidental, nor was the misery in Harma's eyes. Just now the younger man needed to rest his voice; it could take a few days before he would be able to speak regularly again, and it seemed that Harma was not emotionally ready to talk about it anyway. When he found out, though, Damrod felt sure that, though it had been many years, he could still remember enough from his days in the Rangers to ensure that whoever had hurt Harma would regret it.

"I'll want you to stay here for a few days and rest, Harma," Damrod said gently.

Harma sat up abruptly, shaking his head. "No… I need to go back…," he rasped.

Damrod sat down on the bed beside Harma. "You must stay here, Harma, under my care. Please understand this, what you need is time to recover. Now, I shall let the stable boys know that you are all right and will return as soon as I say you may, and I can also send word to your father that you will be here for a few days."

Harma lay back down resigned, but still shook his head. "Don't tell… him."

"Whom? Your father?" Damrod asked and Harma nodded. "I am sure he is worried about you," Damrod said, though he didn't really mean it. He had long been suspicious that Harma's father was quite unkind to the boy. Harma's mother had died in childbirth and the King himself had delivered the babe, trying desperately to save the mother as well, and Harma's name had been Firien's last breath. Ironically, Damrod's father had died before he was born, and though his mother had never even remotely taken it out on him, he and Harma had often understood one another well for it.

"Please…." Harma's voice was getting worse the more he tried to talk.

Sighing, Damrod nodded. "Very well, I will respect your wishes, but then you must also comply with me. You must not try to speak, you've got to rest your voice before permanent damage is done and you are rendered mute."

Harma nodded and laid his head on the pillow, subconsciously signaling that he wanted to be alone. The thought had come to him of the one person who, especially now, would never wish to hear his voice again, the one whose voice he'd loved more than all else. Harma felt like weeping, but at the moment he was just too weak.

"All right, lad," Damrod said with a sad smile. "You drink that tea, it will help a lot, and after a while I will bring you some water. Get some rest. I think you might have encountered too much ale, which would explain why you don't remember much from last night."

Harma felt relieved that he could use that as an excuse, even if it was rather clear that Damrod had only said that to help Harma cover for himself.


	6. Remember Me

When Damrod left the room and Harma was alone again, the memories from the night before assailed him. He cried silently, hating himself, feeling sick just to be in his own body. Out of habit, it seemed, he wished automatically that Elboron was there to hold him. That thought only made things worse though when he realized that Elboron would not be back for a long while, that even when he did return there could be none of what there once was, and, worst of all, that if Elboron ever learned of what had happened, he would never even so much as glance his way again.

Harma had so wanted to convince himself that things were as they had to be for a reason and that he could use the time Elboron was away to forget all that they'd had. Now, though, every breath he took seemed to echo that he would never forget, and that he would likely always love Elboron.

He could hear movement in the next room and voices out in the streets, and he hated it. He wanted to shout at everyone to be silent. How could they all be so callous? Did they not know what agony he was in? There were times when it felt as if the entire City knew about he and Elboron – they hadn't, of course, but unreasonable suspicion makes one perceive things differently. Why couldn't they just let him grieve in silence now?

He pulled the blankets up around himself and curled up, hiding his head. He wanted to be alone for a long, long time.

--

Elboron rode steadily, though he felt anything but. For days now every time he began to think that he was going to be able to make a fresh start, thoughts of Harma came crashing back to him and made his heart ache fiercely. He was growing so frustrated by it, days of riding along spent thinking of things to think of to take his mind off of Harma, nights spent firmly entrenched in dreams of him. Elboron felt as though he was coming to the end of his tether at too quick a speed.

Finally he just had to ride off for a few moments, he just didn't want there to be anyone else near enough for him to hear them. He felt he needed to breathe his own air and compose himself before he could ride another step with his family.

"I'll scout up ahead," he said, suddenly riding past his father and grandfather. He rode fast and disappeared behind a small hill rather quickly. There were no need to scout and the other three knew it, but all privately thought that it was as good an excuse as any if you just wanted to be alone for a moment.

As soon as he knew he was out of sight, Elboron pulled on the reins till his horse stood still and he dropped his head down and wept. A moment ago he was so frustrated that he'd wanted to rip down the trees they rode amongst with his bare hands. Now all he could feel was the hurt. He felt so much like just turning around and riding straight back to Minas Tirith and begging Harma's forgiveness. 'He'd never give it,' Elboron whispered to himself, 'not now.' Would Harma ever forgive him? Elboron doubted it, and at the moment, it was the only thing he really wanted. Elboron felt sure that if he could only talk about this with someone that he would be able to deal with it. That was something that he absolutely could not do though, he reminded himself strongly.

--

Harma lay there in bed for the second day in the Houses of Healing. He was genuinely starting to hate it, laying there with nothing to do but think about Elboron… and try not to think of how he had ended up there. Master Damrod insisted he stay and rest, though.

A memory came to Harma of one night that he had spent with Elboron, curled up in his arms and feeling protected and loved and blissful.

_Elboron kissed his temple and pulled away a bit, reaching over for his discarded cloths. Harma had taken it as a signal that it was time to go and sighed, wishing the night didn't have to end. Slowly he sat up and searched in the low candlelight for his own clothes, pulling his shirt on. _

_Elboron had turned to look questioningly at him. "Are you cold?" he asked._

_Harma just shook his head and started to stand up. Elboron, however, hooked an arm around his waist and pulled him back down. "Then what you are doing?"_

"_Leaving," Harma said simply, not sure why Elboron would question that._

"_Why?" Elboron said, concerned he'd done something wrong._

"_It's late… you want to get your sleep." Harma could not understand what Elboron was playing at, he was the one who pulled away and made to get dressed first._

"_I do want to sleep," Elboron conceded. "But not alone," he added with a smirk and took Harma's shirt from off of his shoulders. "Unless, of course, you don't want to stay," he said, realizing that maybe Harma was uncomfortable here._

_Harma, little-spoken as he was, just put his arms around Elboron and snuggled against him again. Elboron ran a hand softly through Harma's dark hair, gently tilting his head back, and they kissed. Elboron smiled that beautiful smile that both killed and resurrected Harma in the same moment. "You always taste like honey," Elboron murmured close to Harma's ear._

_Harma snickered and said playfully, "so do you."_

_Elboron pulled him closer against him and the thought that Harma meant the world to him ran through his mind. He was vaguely aware that he should have said those words out loud. Instead he pulled back a little again and lit a couple more candles. "Here," he said, turning back to Harma, "I want you to have this." Elboron gently pressed something metallic into Harma's hand._

_Harma looked to see a silver filigree tree like the one that the King had found before they were born. It was a beautiful motif and expertly crafted, fitting perfectly in his palm. Harma traced the branches to their flowering ends and ran his finger down along the trunk. _

"_Whenever I am away, look upon this and you look upon me, hold this and you hold me, press your lips to this and you press your lips to me," Elboron said, an ancient lover's pledge that he'd read in one of the books that had once been in the library at Imladris and was now in his father's own extensive collection._

_Harma wrapped his arms lovingly around Elboron. "Thank you," he whispered. "I only wish I had something to give you in return."_

"_You have, little darlin'" Elboron said, cupping Harma's face in his hand and touching his forehead to Harma's and cutting off his own words as he ghosted his lips over Harma's._

Harma started to get up to look for his cloths. That little emblem never left him since it was given to him, and now he wanted to take it from the hidden pocket where he kept it and hold it. He knew it would bring him to tears again, but he decided it would be easier to cry himself to sleep. He felt a bit frantic when he could not find his cloths anywhere in the chamber, it hadn't even occurred to him until then that they'd probably had to cut off what he was wearing, considering that he was dressed in one of the long, simple tunic-style garments that were kept for patients in the Houses, as they could be worn by both men and women.

"Harma," Damrod chided as he entered the room to see his young charge up and about. "I thought we agreed that you would rest."

"...Promise," Harma said, still not able to speak much. He realized that he was feeling weaker than he expected and that certain places were still much too sore. "Where are my -"

"I thought you also promised to rest your voice. Your clothes you are asking about? I can have someone bring something more comfortable if you like, but there was nothing wearable left of what you had on."

"Did you search -" Harma began and sounded a little panicked even in his weak voice.

"Yes, Harma, you know that is standard practice. I would have set aside anything I found, and you know that I respect your privacy, regardless of what I might have found. However, I did not find anything. Is there something you are looking for?"

Harma nodded, but was worried now. If Damrod had not found Elboron's charm in his clothes when he was brought in, where could it be? The last thing he wanted to think of was those men who attacked him finding it. Surely they couldn't know what it meant, but just the thought of them touching something that scared to him, that Elboron had put his pledge upon, even if that pledge now meant nothing, it felt like it would be an ultimate violation.

Damrod had brought cool water and fresh fruit for Harma to nibble on until he felt better enough for a full meal. He nodded when asked if he would eat and drink, not because he could not use his voice, but because he did not want to. It had been bad enough to have to lose Elboron, but it was just the finishing touch that he now could not find his amulet. Would they take everything from him? They already had his pride, worth, and honor. He no longer had any hope to give. Did they have to take the only memento of happiness he had left as well?

Damrod said nothing and turned to leave, seeing that Harma still wanted to be alone. He was growing concerned for, as far as he could tell, although Harma had clearly been roughed up, there was no physical reason for him to be so unwell. There was no light whatever in Harma's eyes and it bothered Damrod. Something more had happened, he knew that without a doubt by now, and whatever Harma was looking for had something to do with it. He considered asking the boys over at the stables to come and visit their "captain," thinking that might cheer Harma, but something told him to respect that Harma wanted to be alone. After all, the Houses were not a place to heal only the body, Damrod understood well that one must also be able to ease the heart and mind. Instead he went across the street to ask the lads if they had found any objects near Harma. Whatever it was, it seemed to mean a lot to the younger man.

--

At long, long last, the four riders had finally arrived at Edoras. Éomer hurried out to greet them as Faramir's gaze subconsciously went to one of the burial mounds outside the city. There were more simblemynë that grew there than on any of the other mounds. The Steward was grateful to see his cousin, Rohan's Queen, coming with her husband; they would provide a distraction for the moment at least.

Elboron, too, was glad for the distraction, and glad to see his cousin, Elfwine, again. Finally, he thought, something glad for a change. Rohan was a much more relaxed place than Minas Tirith and often times he felt more comfortable in his skin here where formality was not so ingrained into every breath the people drew. He would welcome a hot bath, good meal, and soft bed after too much time in the saddle too. Maybe here, he thought, he could hope to forget.

"How have you been 'Bori? We don't hear from you anymore," Elfwine accused teasingly as they embraced.

"Well, for the last week I've been on the road, and if that doesn't give you some indication, you haven't been keeping busy enough yourself," Elboron teased back, although it was perfectly true.

"Ah, that's too bad. Here I was hoping to hear that you've been too busy with some lady, or ladies, to write your cousin." Elfwine smirked. The Prince of Rohan was much like his grandfather, Éomund, had been,Aragorn thought.

"Oh, I've been busy," Elboron promised, "just not with any ladies." Again, he spoke no untruth.

"Well, come on, let'sget these horses bedded down and catch up. Want to join us, 'Dari?" Elfwine asked.

"I'll have to pass, thanks. Right now, I'd rather join the cook in the kitchen," Eldarion said, staying with his father and older brother.

"Save something for us, will you? An ale, I mean, not the cook, she's all yours!" Elfwine laughed, leading Aragorn, Faramir, and Eldarion's horses over to the stables. He would likely have them all three settled down the time Elboron finished with his own horse.

"They must be keeping you busy, cousin," Elfwine said, unfastening the harnesses on Elboron's horse since it was second nature to him. "You look more tired than any of them. Mumma always talks about how uncle Faramir would work himself to death if not for Aragorn making sure he took time to relax. Sure you aren't going down the same path?"

"I don't even know what path I am on," Elboron said under his breath. "I am well enough, Elfwine, I just haven't been able to sleep too well. You know how it is on the road. I am glad we are here again, though. It has been so long since I've seen my aunt, uncle, and cousin."

"Well, take more holidays and that won't happen," Elfwine said definitely, turning to hang up the bridle. "Oh! Bori', where did you get this? It's beautiful!"

"Get what?" Elboron asked. He knew the Rohirrim were horse fanciers in the extreme, but he had never seen anything extraordinary about his horse's bridle.

"This!" Elfwine said, holding out a small figure of a galloping horse wrought in silver.

Elboron recognized it at once. It belonged to Harma, he often wore it on a chain around his neck. Taking the small ornament, he stared at it, touching it gently. "How did that get there?" he wondered aloud, as if Elfwine had the answer.

"You mean you rode all the way and never noticed that? It was on your bridle. If you tell me that you have left the bridle on this horse the entire -." Elboron looked up sheepishly and Elfwine had no need to finish that thought. "Bema, Elboron!"

"I've been a little preoccupied lately," Elboron shrugged.

"Preoccupation doesn't excuse neglect!" Elfwine nearly shouted in disbelief.

"Sorry?" Elboron tried.

Elfwine sighed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't've shouted. Just, please, pay a little more attention to your horse. He would give his life for you if need be."

Elboron heard and nodded, but as he was looking at the little silver horse in his hand, those words seemed distorted to him. It seemed to mean something completely different. "Pay attention to your horse…. He would give his life for you…," Elboron heard and the only thing he was thinking at the moment was of that little silver ornament around Harma's neck. In many ways, that horse was the only witness to what he and Harma had shared.

He wondered why this thing came to him just now. He had not noticed it at all for the last week. And how had it gotten onto his bridle? That was not such a mystery, really. Elboron knew just by the way that everything was ordered, the way the reins were fastened, the way the saddle was secured, the stirrups at just the right length, all of it pointed to Harma. Harma knew exactly how Elboron liked to ride, and it was clear that he'd tacked up Mornaloth for him the morning they left the City. How hard must it have been for him, aiding in the cause of his own heartbreak? And yet he had done it, as perfectly as always. Elboron clenched the little silver charm in his hand tightly. Harma had put it there for him to find when he took off the bridle at night, a reminder that he still loved him, and Elboron had failed to see it or take proper care of his horse.

"I guess in the back of my mind I just didn't want to ruin his work," he said, trying to justify to himself not untacking his horse each night.

"Well, I can see that, whoever tacked this lad knows what he is doing," Elfwine said.

Elboron still couldn't take his eyes from the charm. He couldn't bear to stand there and settle the same horse that Harma had taken such care with a week ago, he felt he would do it all wrong. "Elfwine? Can you take care of him for me? I really think I need to lay down more than I realized."

"Of course, cousin. You should get some rest and I will let you know when supper is ready."

Elboron scarcely heard as he had started out of the stable already and headed up to Meduseld. He knew where to find a quiet place, the little, underdeveloped library, and he went there at once. For at least an hour he just sat there looking at the gift from Harma. He could see it in his mind's eye dangling from Harma's neck. It would sway back and forth, looking like the silver horse really was galloping along, when Harma leaned forward. It would be pressed between them when they held each other tightly.

Thinking of the silver tree he had given to Harma one night some while ago, he thought that this must be Harma's way of giving a gift in return. For him to have given this, rather than giving him his silver tree back, after he'd broken his heart, it spoke so loudly that Elboron thought he'd be deafened by it. Elboron thought of the pledge he had made on the tree ornament and wondered if Harma had made the same pledge on this. Hoping he had, he pressed his lips to the amulet as tears slipped down, and whispered, "I love you, Harma. I am sorry."


	7. A Calling

When Damrod went to the stables to inquire of the lads there if any had found any items near Harma, the only one who had been brave enough to walk down the Silent Street stepped forward. "I found something, Captain, although it was not near Captain Harma," the lad said, showing Damrod the trinket.

"Where did you find this?" Damrod asked, taking the object and feeling it in his hand. If he was right, this was made of mithril.

"Behind the House of the Kings, sir, on the Silent Street," the boy answered, suddenly feeling a bit awkward for having been prying about the houses of the dead.

Damrod thought on this for a moment, thinking that it could do no harm to take it to Harma and see if this was what he was searching for. How it would wind up behind the House of the Kings was beyond his knowledge, but if it was mithril it would explain why he was so frantic to recover it.

"Thank you. Harma had been looking for something and I thought that perhaps one of you might have found it. Whether this is it or not, I do not know."

"How is he?" one of them asked quietly. They had all hoped that when Damrod came over he'd have good news, but when he hadn't said anything of Harma at all and only asked if they'd found anything first off, they were all a bit afraid.

"Oh, he is doing well, lads," Damrod said with a smile that any adult would have seen through. "I want to give him another couple of days to rest though. He gives himself no rest at all, and so I think that I might ask him to stay longer than he really needs to. He deserves a bit of a holiday, do you not agree?"

All of the boys agreed unreservedly and promised that they would continue to take care of everything until their captain returned. At that Damrod did smile genuinely. He remembered how dedicated he and his fellow Rangers had been to their own captain, Faramir, even in some of Middle-earth's darkest days. "Thank you for your loyalty, boys. It is the best thing you can give to your captain," he said sincerely before leaving to pick up a few supplies while he was out (as an excuse to allow Harma some more time to himself.)

When Damrod returned to the Houses he found that, despite a nodded promise, Harma had yet to touch the fruit or water Damrod had brought for him. He just lay there looking sad.

Damrod sighed, it seemed that Harma did not even notice he was in the room, and he was bothered greatly by this. It had been on Damrod's mind that Harma was still technically under the same protection as all soldiers of Gondor, since he had done the training and was appointed by Captain Bergil, even if the post was a civilian one, and that it was a very grave offense to attack a man under such protection. Damrod wondered if Harma feared retribution should he speak of what happened; after all, it was exceedingly clear that Harma remembered very well, even if he had claimed that he did not after waking in the Houses.

"Harma, I talked with the lads over at the stables. One of them found something unusual, though it was not near you. Is this what you were looking for?" he asked, holding out the silver ornament.

Judging solely by the way Harma's eyes lit momentarily as he reached out with more energy than he'd shown yet, that was indeed what he had been searching for so worriedly.

Damrod smiled slightly, it was an encouragement that there was something that could stir Harma from his sorrow. Now it was just a matter of seeing if that effect would last long. Harma held the object tightly and close to him, making Damrod think that this thing was more valuable to Harma than it's cost, even if that was indeed mithril. "I can understand why you wished to have that back," Damrod said, hoping to keep Harma's spirits up. "Unless i miss my guess, I believe that that metal is in fact mithril." Damrod supposed it was an heirloom, for new mithril was a thing unheard of, except, perhaps for the King, who had close ties in just about every realm in Middle-earth.

"Where…?" Harma whispered, trying to save his voice. He hadn't even thought about what Damrod had said about mithril. He just wanted to know that his gift from Elboron had not been touched by malicious hands.

"The lad said he found it on Rath Dinen, behind the House of the Kings. Though I know not how it could have gotten there," Damrod said. He knew that Elboron would go there on occasion, for he had seen him talking with the porter at times, but it was not exactly the sort of place one frequented.

Harma, however, realized just what had happened. He had fallen asleep there at the back of the House of the Kings after descending Mount Mindolluin. He had intended to wait there until Elboron came down so that he could say a more proper goodbye and apologize for having spoken so coldly. He loved Elboron and wanted to be sure that he knew it, even if Elboron would no longer be able to be with him. He remembered stirring at first light to a touch on his shoulder but because of the dream he'd had, he was sure that Elboron was just kissing him goodnight. He'd gone right back to sleep, so tired he was, until the sun rose a little higher, shining in his face and waking him. It was only then that he'd come back to the reality of the situation. The little silver tree must have slipped from it's hiding place as he rose and dusted himself off, knowing that he needed to go directly to the stables to make sure that Mornaloth, Elboron's horse, was ready for the journey.

Then Harma realized what Damrod had said about mithril. He wondered for a moment if Elboron had known it was mithril when he gave it to him, but Elboron was well learned about these things, and most surely he would have known it well. Was this, then, to mean that Elboron had cherished him so highly as to give him such a gift? Harma did not dare to believe it, and yet, he felt that if only Elboron loved him that much, perhaps it could mean that he loved him still, in spite of his duties. To Harma, even if their love could not be known, even if it was only known between them and nothing done about it, that would be still be enough for him. It was that thought that Harma would hold to and hope to, and suddenly he realized how long it had been since he had eaten anything.

When another day had come and gone, and Harma seemed to have been brought out of his grief so well, Damrod wondered if there really had been anything further that happened to the younger man. Perhaps, he thought, he was just being too protective of him. After all, men, especially young men who have had too much to drink, will tend to get into fights just as young boys will incur cuts and scrapes unnumbered.

Yet Damrod asked Harma to stay one more day, just until he was certain that his voice was recovered. Harma promised not to argue as long as he could help Damrod in the healing garden. After that though, Damrod could see no reason why Harma shouldn't resume his duties. And still there was something in the back of his mind that cautioned him not to let Harma out of his sight for too long.

When Harma was feeling able to use his voice at a more audible level without too much tenderness, Damrod conceded that as a healer he was satisfied and that Harma had his permission to go.

"Thank you, Master Damrod. You needn't have taken such care of me," Harma said, speaking normally for the first time in days.

"Yes, I did need to, if only to reassure myself. You're a good lad, Harma, and I, for one, am proud to know you." Damrod was half inclined to ask Harma if he would not like to stay in his own home up in the Citadel, where it was infinitely safer, but he held back.

Harma smiled slightly. Before he had recovered his most treasured possession, he had strongly considered leaving Minas Tirith for good, it was clear to him that he was not in any way wanted within the City. Now, though, he was more of a mind to stay and wait until Elboron's return. Maybe there were some here who would miss him after all.

Harma intended to go over to the stables first thing to let the lads know that he was all right and to see if one of them wouldn't mind fetching his regular cloths from home for him. Harma meant to get directly back to the work he'd missed and, though he would not say it, he truly did not wish to go anywhere near his "home" yet.

He knew he would have to go home at some point, though; especially now that he needed to watch his back more carefully. Harma started to feel a sickness rising again at that thought, but quickly suppressed it. He had made up his mind that he would not allow it to bother him. They'd hurt him, but they would not destroy him, not while he still carried Elboron's gift, and in that he was resolved.

However, Harma had not even gotten out of the Houses when Gondor's Captain-General approached him. Captain Belthil was an exceedingly outgoing and reasonable man, by all standards, and many often compared him to Gondor's former Captain-General, the famed Lord Boromir (it only helped that there was such a resemblance between them that it was often said that Belthil could be taken for Boromir's son had he had a child – proving yet again that though the rumor mongers of Minas Tirith thought they knew everything, some secrets were guarded beyond their knowing.)

"Harma! Just who I am looking for. And thank the Valar you look well. When the lads told me you were here I was worried. We need you, young man," Belthil said in his usual gregarious manner.

For a moment Harma just stood there. What could the Captain-General possibly need him for? Suddenly his senses came back to him and he saluted properly, causing Belthil to crack up.

"Forget about that!" said in throes of laughter. "Just come on up to the Citadel with me, we need to discuss a proposition with you."

Harma had gone completely nervous, this was most unexpected. The Captain General did not ordinarily go around sending messages. "My lord… I – I am scarcely dressed to -"

"Don't worry about that either. You can wear something of Faramir's, he won't mind," Belthil said, already turning to go.

"Faramir's, my lord?" Harma said practically choking. He knew that the Captain-General was close to the Steward and the royal family, but wasn't that taking things too far?

"Faramir, my assistant," Belthil smiled broadly. Over the years it had caused a good bit of confusion to have two Faramirs within the Citadel. Hooking Harma under the arm, Belthil led him up to the Citadel, blithely chatting about how nice the weather had been, even if they could do with an afternoon rain to cool off after a vigorous sword practice.

Harma was taken up to the tower where Belthil stuck his head into a study saying, "Fara', going to borrow some of your clothes, if you do not mind."

"You are going to do what?" the slightly younger man replied curiously. Belthil had a much broad-shouldered build than Faramir's rather lean frame.

"Not for me!" Belthil said, as if it was obvious that he was talking of Harma, who was all but hiding behind Belthil and had not said a word. He could not begin to understand why he was suddenly pulled away to the Citadel and he was growing more afraid by the moment.

"Oh, certainly! Go right ahead," Faramir said finally stepping out into the hallway and seeing the young stable master. "How are you faring Harma?"

"Well, my lord, thank you," Harma said, dipping his head hurriedly.

Before he knew what was happening, he was being lead again across the Citadel's lawn to one of the houses along the ramparts. Belthil went in and Harma stayed by the door waiting. A moment later, Belthil returned looking confused. "Oh, there you are, I thought I'd lost you to the dormouse that patrols this place. He's been a menace since it warmed up. Cutest little bugger I've ever seen though. Come on in, you can wear whatever you want. Put on his council robes, he won't care."

"Lord Belthil," Harma said, finally plucking up the courage to speak, "this is incredibly generous of you, and please do not think that I am ungrateful in any way, but… is this necessary, my lord? I mean… I could have just gone home and -"

Belthil smiled, though not as openly as usual. "You can do that later, right now we are a bit rushed. The underlying matter is pressing."

Harma just accepted that he was not going to find out anything in advance and so obeyed the Captain-General and dressed himself in the simplest things he could find. He firmly refused to take advantage of the generosity he was shown until he knew what was going on. He had scarcely emerged from the bed chambers to ask Belthil if what he was wearing was suitable, when he was again swept off back to the tower, Belthil saying that he looked perfect without really taking a look at him at all.

In the midst of all the confusion and whirlwind, Harma's thoughts suddenly slowed down, even as he was rushing to keep up to Belthil. He remembered distinctly the last time he was told that he looked perfect.

_Harma had had a difficult day. The morning in Minas Tirith had been miserably hot and humid. He'd had five temperamental horses brought in from a contingent visiting from Dale; it wasn't that Harma blamed them, they were all jet black and in this weather it had to be torture to have to ride about with 200 pounds on your back, especially being from so far north and not used to such summers. It was just that one of them had nearly kicked down his stall door before Harma was able to unlatch it and let the beast prance and paw and rear to show his displeasure with the Gondorian climate. Harma had told his helpers to head home and keep cool, he knew that these horses all needed an expert hand and he did not want to risk one of the young boys getting hurt. All he asked was for a few buckets of water to be fetched so that he could ease the horses' agitation._

_Then, later in the afternoon, once he had finally cooled all five of the huge chargers and moved on to taking care of his regular work, rain clouds gathered and quickly broke in a torrential storm. It was a relief from the heat, but by the time all of the horses in the paddock had been fetched in, Harma was drenched to the bone and starting to shiver. _

_Glad he could soon quit for the day and hoping for the cloudiness to last a few days, Harma shook the wetness from hair vigorously and started to peel off his waterlogged tunic. He did not notice the door opening and had no knowledge that he wasn't alone until he was startled by arms wrapping around him. _

"_Well, you're all wet," a whisper teased at his ear._

_Harma sighed. He should have known. "Bori', come on, I'm a mess."_

_Elboron spun Harma around to face him, his dark hair wet and glistening, rivulets of clean interrupting sweat-caked dirt all over his face. Elboron looked lower to the shirt that might as well have been invisible, the leggings were clinging a little closer than usual as well, he noticed. Humming appreciatively, Elboron said, "On the contrary… you look perfect." _

_Harma glanced over Elboron's shoulder, noting that he'd latched the stable door when he sneaked in. Harma just grinned, and shivered a bit again, saying, "I think I'm going to have to get out of these wet clothes before I take ill."_

Harma was lost in the memory, holding on to the silver tree and holding on to hope, until he almost walked directly into Belthil when he stopped to open a door. Inside was Captain Bergil, looking grave. For some inexplicable reason, Harma became intensely worried. Had they found out what had happened to him? If so, why did the Captain-General seem so welcoming? But what could have made Bergil seem so grim when he was usually every bit as friendly as Belthil?

"Harma," Bergil said, "thank you for coming on such short notice. I wish to ask a favor of you."

Harma gave a half bow and said quietly, "I shall do what I may, Captain."

Bergil rose and smiled weakly, laying a hand on Harma's shoulder. "You are nearly my last resort and I sincerely hate to take you from the stables, but I am in need. I have just received word from Emyn Arnen that my father is in poor health. My adjutant is in Dol Amroth and not expected back until about the same time as the King and Steward and their sons. All the other men here already have more than enough of their own work to see to and I, bluntly, I just do not have enough confidence in anyone else to stand in my stead for a time. I will not be far away, but I do not know how serious he is…." Bergil trailed off, pain clear in his eyes.

"Stay as long as you must, Captain, I shall stand for you as best I can and I am honored by your trust." Harma had no knowledge of how he would handle looking after a Captaincy and, truth be told, he sincerely did not want to do it, but Bergil looked like he was about to run to Emyn Arnen faster than any horse could bear him.

"Thank you, Harma. I do not know how to thank you enough for your willingness to help me. The Captain-General will see to getting you settled in here. I am afraid I must go at once." And he did with only a farewell from Belthil.

"You are a good man, Harma," Belthil said sincerely. "We can slow down a bit now, I'll show you your guest chambers and let you get comfortable. I can have supper sent up to you or you can join Faramir and I. Lady Arwen may dine with us if she is feeling well. And… what else? Oh, I will send someone to fetch a few things from home? And let your father know you will be staying up here for a while. Fair enough?"

It was still all too much for Harma to take at once and he just nodded, though he knew that his father was not going to be happy that he had not bothered to tell him of this himself, regardless of what the Captain-General had to say. Whereas before he hoped that it was all a misunderstanding and that Bergil's father was as healthy as ever, he suddenly found himself rather wishing that the Captain might be detained for some while, or even just take advantage of his "willingness to help" and take an extended holiday for himself.


	8. Memories In Meduseld

Elboron had been "hiding" in the library of Meduseld for a while before there was a soft knock at the door. His father entered, smiling slightly.

"I thought I might find you here," Faramir said. "I've always come here when I wanted a quiet moment in Edoras. I think this room has seen more use than it ever did since 'Thiri came."

"I should have taken a nap," Elboron said, moving over on the settee to make room for his father to sit beside him. "Instead I just sat here thinking."

Faramir's sympathetic smile broadened. "I understand that all too well. Much of my life has been spent thinking when I ought to have been sleeping. You'll have a chance to rest up for a few days though. I can tell you need it; I've been worried about you, Elboron," Faramir said. "Sometimes you remind me too much of myself. I know I am a poor example, but listen to daerada when he advises rest. I truly do believe that he is the wisest man in all of Arda."

"You've never been a poor example, ada," Elboron said seriously. "You have always been at hand whenever I needed you, and I shall never forget that." Elboron hugged his father, simultaneously tightening his grip on the little silver horse ornament that had belonged to Harma.

Elboron felt torn in two. For he loved his father most dearly and feared that he could not truly honor his father and continue to love Harma as well. He wished so much that he could talk to his father about it, but he feared that to admit it would be to lose his father's love. And yet, Elboron told himself that he had no real reason for believing that, other than the example of how Harma's father acted toward him. And he wondered if that counted as a reason either, for his own father often dealt with things in ways that other men would not.

"I have only hoped to be a good father to my beloved son," Faramir said. Elboron knew that his grandfather had not raised Faramir, but there was very little he knew about Denethor and Faramir never spoke of the man unless necessary. "And I have tried to make certain that you know that I love you and am proud of you." Faramir just looked at his son for a moment. "You look so much like your uncle, the one I wish you could have met."

Elboron smiled vaguely. "You say that of cousin Belthil as well, ada."

"Aye, and he truly is the image of my brother. And you see how you resemble him. Only you have your naneth's chin, fortunately for you," Faramir said, the smile still on his lips, but fading from his eyes with so many memories of those now gone. "Well, I was just going to take a walk before supper is served. I did not find time for a nap either, your uncle the King wanted to discuss much. I believe that there is a nice, hot bath by the hearth in your chamber, though. Go and relax, and I will see you at dinner."

Elboron nodded, saying, "Aye, ada," and clasping his father's shoulder. Faramir needn't have said so, Elboron knew that he was on his way to the graves outside the city where his mumma and twin sister had been laid to rest when he was just a baby. Elboron remembered one time when he and his grandfather had gone up to the High Hallow when he was younger. It was shortly after a trip to Rohan and Elboron remembered seeing his father by his mother and sister's grave, knelt down and weeping. He had been old enough to understand that his father missed them very much, but he did not know why. And so he had asked his grandfather how they had died.

The question had taken Aragorn by surprise, and he wondered if it was his place to explain it. But he considered that there were some things that Faramir never talked about, even with him, and he decided that Elboron should know the truth before he heard some far-fetched tale about it all. He was thankful that Elboron was insightful enough to understand that the men who had deliberately harmed his mother and sister were renegades of the Haradrim, who had made peace with Gondor and with whom trade had flourished in the years since the War, and that one must not judge an entire people by the actions of a few. Aragorn told himself not to be surprised; Faramir's son was not likely to be bigoted about much.

And so Elboron went to wash away the road dust that had gathered on him. When he dressed again, he put Harma's horse on a cord and tied it around his own neck. He was still immensely confused with his situation, but his thought was that until he sorted out his own mind (and heart), he would keep the gift given him as it had been worn by Harma. It was the least he could do, Elboron told himself.

Elfwine came up to Elboron's guest room to let him know that everyone was gathering for supper. Apparently, Éomer had decided to have a little welcome party for the neighboring king and his family. Elboron had rather hoped for a quiet welcome, but few things Éomer ever did were quiet. Still, he knew what a celebration in Edoras meant: ale – a _lot_ of ale.

There was a traditional Rohanian brew before dinner for Éomer's speech, a practice he had decided he liked over the years, and another during dinner. To break things up a bit, there was a wine sent from Prince Imrahil to his daughter and son-in-law for dessert, and then an after-dinner ale, which was a gift from the recently established Dwarvish settlement at Aglarond. If all of that wasn't enough to send one happily (if not dizzily) to their bed, there was plenty more ale for anyone who really wanted it.

Faramir and Aragorn chose sleep over more ale, both thinking that their years might just be starting to catch up to them, while their sons stayed up talking and drinking with Elfwine. "The torch has been passed," Aragorn said wryly to Faramir as they headed to their chambers to sleep.

After some while, Eldarion decided that he'd had plenty to drink and eat and he was ready for a nice sleep, leaving the two cousins to their own devices. Elboron and Elfwine decided to get some fresh air as the Golden Hall had clouded up with the fume of many pipes being lit after supper. Elfwine had been judicious enough to pick up several tankards on their way out.

Sitting outside Meduseld, staring up at the stars above, Elboron thought he was feeling a lot better than he had in a long while – ever since he realized that he would have to say goodbye to Harma, in fact.

Several obviously inebriated men, Rohirrim, came wandering out of the hall. They raised their still-full tankards, saying "Here's to you, Prince Elfwine!"

"And to you!" Elfwine responded heartily, lifting his drink as well.

"I like it here," Elboron said wistfully. "You can be yourself without everyone bowing and fawning."

"The gates of Edoras are always open to you, cousin, you know it well. Anytime you want time away, just pack up and ride out." Elfwine punctuated his words with an unexpected slap to Elboron's back.

"If things don't change by the time I get home I might have to," Elboron said quietly. "If we hadn't been coming out here, might have gone to 'thilien for a while."

"Thilien, eh? Thought you said you'd been too busy." Elfwine said. "Did you see the girl over at that table three up and to the left?" he asked.

"Huh?" Elboron said, his responses slowing down.

"The girl… nevermind, I was just going to say I fancy her. I've been watching her for almost a month now, her father's a Marshall's second-in-command, and apparently she's learned a lot from him. I want to talk to her, but… well, if she doesn't want to talk to me, I'd probably end up never talking to anyone ever again. Probably why I like her."

Elboron chuckled drunkenly. "Always the one you can't have, believe me."

"Where is Thilien, then?" Elfwine asked.

"Across the river."

"Well, why can't you have her then?"

Elboron didn't respond, he really didn't hear Elfwine's confused question. His thoughts were on Harma as he fingered the silver horse charm that he'd just remembered was around his neck. That first time….

_He'd taken to Harma since they first met during training. They were practically still children then and eager to prove themselves. For Elboron, it was rather effortless. Harma, on the other hand, struggled greatly. Elboron was quick to help Harma whenever he could and they developed a friendship. They got along well and there was an easy rapport between them._

_When they'd completed the training course several years later, when Elboron went back to helping his father instead of continuing in Gondor's military and Harma was given a post in the stables, they'd seen each other much less. _

_One evening Elboron was coming in late from taking time to see to the needs of those who populated the Pelennor. He didn't expect there to be anyone at hand in the stables at that time of night and so walked his horse in himself, trying to be quiet so that he didn't wake the other horses. He went to fetch a bit of grain for Mornaloth, his horse, and nearly stumbled over Harma, who was sitting, hiding it almost seemed, at the back of the stables were feed was stored._

_Elboron was surprised to find himself happier to see Harma then he realized he'd be, but Harma did not seem happy at all. He was curled against himself and trembling, and recoiled suddenly when Elboron silently touched his shoulder._

"_Harma?" Elboron said softly, "What is wrong?"_

"_Nothing, Lord Elboron," Harma replied, trying to sound convincing and failing at it. He tried to stand up, but Elboron sat beside him and held on to his shoulders._

"_I'm not a Lord, I'm your _friend_, and you can talk to me," Elboron said comfortingly. _

_Harma looked like a frightened child and it hurt Elboron to see him like that. He gripped his knees close to his chest, still trembling, and shuddered in a sob that would not be repressed. He glanced over at Elboron for a moment with eyes rimmed in red, as if gauging whether he wanted to tell him his troubles. Harma dropped his gaze back to his knees and was silent for a few moments before saying quietly, "My father hates me."_

_Elboron truly could not imagine such a thing as a father hating his son. It was something that he could not comprehend at all, and he figured that Harma was overreacting or exaggerating. "Why do you feel that?" he asked, trying to understand the situation._

"_I do not feel it… I know it. He has always made it painfully clear. I am grateful to be able to work here with the horses, but my father… he wanted me to go on to become a Guard of the Citadel, and is extremely disappointed that I did not."_

_Elboron still held on to Harma's shoulders. "What about your mumma?" he asked, "Do you not think she would be proud of you?" His own father told him frequently that his mother would have been very proud of the man he was growing to be._

_Harma shook his head. "I do not know. How can I know? I am the reason she isn't here anymore."_

"_That is not true, Harma. Many times it happens that a mother dies in birth, but it is never the child's fault. My daer-… rather, I mean, the King is the greatest healer yet in Arda, he learned from the Elves, and he has told me that. And a father should never expect his son to be something he does not wish to be."_

"_I feel I've failed him intolerably, again." Harma spoke so softly Elboron could barely hear. "I am a failure."_

"_Harma," Elboron said gently, but seriously, "no parent should ever make their child feel like a failure." Harma's head was still low and Elboron could see little droplets coursing down over his high cheek bones. "Harma, look at me," he said, still speaking soothingly. Harma only looked away though. Elboron could stand it no more. Slipping his fingers under Harma's chin and gently lifting his face to his, Elboron moved purely on instinct to Harma's lips._

_For a moment, Harma did not react at all. Then he seemed to melt into Elboron's lips and the kiss grew deeper and deeper until they were both hooked._

_It occurred more frequently after that. Whenever they chanced to meet somewhere, a knowing look toward one another and they would quickly find a secreted place. Kisses no longer started softly or with talk. Harma was growing more confident and happy again, though sometimes Elboron still comforted him through sadness and his kisses were reassurance to Harma that he was in fact worthy. _

_One time he saw Harma in the stables with a black eye and split lip and immediately wanted to know who it was that had hurt him. Harma started to deflect the question, but Elboron's hands held his shoulders as they did that night some while ago. Harma looked afraid, but whispered, his head down, "my father."_

_Elboron was enraged and would have gone to let the man know exactly what he thought of his actions, except that Harma held on to Elboron, saying, "please, don't, don't leave me." Elboron's rage abated and turned to compassion as he held Harma close to him and whispered, "I won't leave you, I promise." He stroked Harma's back relaxingly as he wept on Elboron's shoulder until an impatient horse started to get serious about wanting something to eat and started to nibble on Elboron's other shoulder, causing Harma to laugh for that horse had a reputation for eating anything to stood still long enough._

_Before very long, Elboron started seeking out Harma, as much to make sure he was all right as to steal a kiss now and then. It still angered Elboron that Harma's father was so cruel to him, but Harma had asked him repeatedly to let it go, that he dealt with it in his own way and really did not want any one helping him. Elboron respected that, to a point, but he swore that he would not be held responsible for the consequences if the man ever hurt his Harma again._

Looking back it seemed such a short time ago. As Elboron sat in front of the Golden Hall with his cousin, staring up at stars that refused to stand still, he wondered if Harma was all right. When last he laid eyes on him, he'd looked almost as hurt as he did the first time he found him hiding at the back of the stables. Elboron cursed himself for causing that, thinking that he was no better than Harma's damnable father.


	9. Near and Far

Elboron lay there on the cold stone outside the Golden Hall watching the sun rise. Had he been in Minas Tirith, someone would have either woken him up or carried him inside. It would have been unseemly otherwise. Here, no one really seemed to mind if the two cousins drank themselves into oblivion and fell asleep outside. It was generally considered that "boys would be boys" after all.

"Glad you're awake," Elfwine said nearby. "I didn't realize you aren't used to the kind of ale we have here. I hope I didn't press you to take too much."

"No…," Elboron said foggily.

"Good. Breakfast will be before too long, in the meantime I should get you some water. I should warn you, you're tongue was a little bit loose last night."

For a second Elboron stared horrified at his cousin.

Elfwine chuckled. "Cousin, you need to spend more time here and less time in that City of yours! I mean you were talking about things that you likely wouldn't talk much about without having been drinking. When you came here yesterday you were tired, but sober, and said that you'd been too busy for ladies… last night, on the other hand, you mentioned two, by name."

Elboron was still staring at his cousin, this time less horrified than mortified.

Elfwine was still laughing. "Don't worry about it! You didn't say anything… specific. You just mentioned names, Thilien and something else… Harla? Anyway… I won't tell them," he winked.

Now Elboron just looked confused. "Thilien?"

Elfwine nodded. "You said you would have gone to her, but for some reason you couldn't have her, she's across the river."

"Across the…. Oh! _I_thilien! No, that is not a lady I was referring to, cousin, I meant I was tempted to go to Ithilien for a while if things…. What exactly did I say about Harma?"

Elfwine smiled, waiting for his cousin to get his bearings after drinking too much was really amusing. "You said you missed her. But that was all. Of course you had a hold of _my_ arm when you said it."

"Sorry about that," Elboron said.

"Forget it, let's go wake up the horses."

* * *

"Bori'?" a sleepy Harma murmured. He didn't feel anyone beside him as he started to wake, but he was sure he was in Elboron's bed. It was so soft and big. He could sleep forever like that. It wasn't until there was no response that Harma opened his eyes and looked around. He was not in Elboron's apartments, that much he could tell, but he wasn't sure where he was either.

Suddenly he went still… he could remember no details from the night before and he hoped that he hadn't done something he'd regret.

There was a knock at the door, and for a moment Harma waiting, expecting the owner of the sumptuous bed to come answer it as it probably wouldn't be a very good idea for him to do so himself.

No one came to the door, though, nor did he hear anyone in any other room. A knock again, and with it this time someone said, "Harma? Are you awake?"

He couldn't place that voice. How could someone know he was there though? Unless it was the owner of the bed… but they why would they knock? In the end he decided he might as well respond, saying that he was awake.

"How are you feeling? Do you wish to join us for breakfast?" he was asked.

The Captain-General, Harma thought for certain, and started to remember something from the day before. Filling in for Captain Bergil… and with no idea what to do or how he would do it. But he had agreed, seeing how Bergil feared that his father was seriously ill.

Rubbing his eyes, he moved to get out of the bed, only to fall onto the floor. Elboron had always been the one who reminded him to watch the height of the bed, so much loftier were they in the Citadel. Collecting himself, he answered the door to address Belthil.

Harma offered a half-bow, but Belthil cut it short. "We haven't even had breakfast, I shouldn't think either of us are exactly on duty just yet. Either way, if you are going to be taking care of Bergil's office, there is no need for all that anyway. Get dressed, you can join Faramir and me."

Harma looked back inside the room, remembering that the clothes he had on he had borrowed from Belthil's assistant, and it wasn't enough that he had borrowed them in the first place but to wear them for another day after having slept in them would just make him too self-conscious.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Belthil said, seeing Harma's hesitancy, "I had them put your things in my rooms. Wait a moment."

Harma blinked a couple of times at the Captain-General's back as he hurried back down the corridor. He did not recall anything from some time after supper as he sat with Lord Belthil and his assistant Faramir, and he dearly hoped he hadn't made a fool of himself right off. Clearly he couldn't even remember going to bed, and he looked out into the hallway hoping something might remind him.

On the wall directly across the hall from his door there was something that Harma recognized at once: a beautiful tapestry depicting Elendil with Isildur and Anarion fleeing from Númenor with the symbols and relics they rescued from the island. It hung on the wall beside the door to Elboron's sitting room. Harma stood staring at the finely woven artwork for a time, his mind filled with thoughts of times he'd sneaked by that wall-hanging with Elboron to spend the night in his beloved's embrace.

"Here we are," Belthil called, coming back down the hall. "If you find you need anything else from home just let me know and I have someone run down for you. Anyway, get dressed and I'll walk you down to the dining room. I rather doubt you recall the way from last night?"

Harma knew the way perfectly well, even if he had only ever seen it by candle or moonlight. He smiled slightly, seeing that he probably had made a fool of himself the night before, but that Belthil didn't hold it against him. "I might have celebrated getting out of the Houses of Healing a little too eagerly," Harma said, "but I do recall the way up. Thank you for offering, but I don't want to hold you back, I do wish to get properly ready for the day. Would it be permissible for me to meet you in the breakfast room?"

Belthil did his best not to laugh at how formal Harma was obviously trying to be. He would lighten up before long, people always thought of the Citadel as a place of exquisite primness, until they got to know better. "Certainly, anything you are comfortable with is fine, Harma," Belthil said assuringly. "We will see you at breakfast then."

Harma was grateful that Belthil did not seem to mind, and he slowly closed the door and prepared for the day ahead. When he was all set, he went out into the hallway, but instead of going down to greet the others, he crossed over to Elboron's door. For a nervous moment he only rested his hand on the doorknob, thinking how many times Elboron must have grasped it in his own hand. When he was sure no one would see him, he let himself in. Harma thought it best to get it over with right away. He knew that if he was to be staying across the hall from his lover's chambers, he would not rest until he had gone in for a moment. Looking about, Harma felt a creeping pain steal over him with the knowledge that Elboron no longer would welcome him passionately in to his apartments.

Harma turned and made his way to breakfast. He knew if he stayed in Elboron's sitting room much longer he would find himself going over to the bed chamber, and he did not think he could bear that at the moment.

* * *

"Faramir!" Éomer called to his brother-in-law as they entered the hall for breakfast. "I trust you slept well?"

Faramir's response was a polite nod, it had come to be something of a joke that Faramir didn't usually sleep very well within Meduseld.

"I can't get over how much my nephew has grown," Éomer said. "It makes me stop and see how much my Elfwine has also grown. These men will be taking over our lands one day!"

"I'd rather like that day to be a bit further off," Faramir said.

"Elboron seems as if he's already taken over Minas Tirith. He looks as tired as you usually do. You know, he is my sister's son and I'm sure he has her… self-determination, at times. Éowyn never could stand to be cooped up, and if Elboron is anything like her, he's probably suffocating in that fortress of a -"

"What exactly are you insinuating? That I keep my son locked up all day?" Faramir asked with an edge to his tone.

"Of course not," Éomer replied beginning to feel offended. "But what I am saying is that it is rather difficult to move through a city with so many _barriers_ in place. If Éowyn had had a bit more freedom perhaps she would still -"

"Mind what you say next," Faramir snapped at the King of Rohan. Even though much had been put aside between the two men, there were still some things that Faramir did not wish to discuss with anyone, especially at an early hour. On the other hand, Éomer just naturally seemed to have an ability to get on Faramir's wrong side, something incredibly difficult to do for nearly everyone else.

Aragorn had been about to enter the dining hall just after Éomer and Faramir did, but something told him to stay back for the moment. Then, seeing his son's mood and knowing that it was one that only Éomer could call out, he stepped forward without hesitating. "Good morning, gentlemen!" he said cheerfully, never minding the two half-glares sent his way. "Seems to be a mark of age, does it not? We sleep early and rise early, while our son's prefer later hours."

Faramir and Éomer exchanged a glance. It was obvious that Aragorn was just trying to intercede; after all, millennia old Elves had no difficulty on little sleep, so it couldn't possibly have anything to do with one's number of years.

Sighing Éomer said, "I shouldn't have put it quite that way. What I was trying to say was that, if Elboron should wish, he is always welcome to visit here, for however long. And honestly, I could really use the help if he's up to it. A son of yours must surely have your venerable skill for negotiation, much as mine has my… rashness, at times."

Faramir looked ready to protest the idea immediately, but as he started to open his mouth it came to him that Éomer was, unbelievably, rather on target. It did rather seem as if Elboron had started to feel suffocated by the White City, in much the same way that Éowyn had.

Aragorn laughed unexpectedly. "You came by it honestly enough," he said to Éomer. "Éomund was in no way different from you at all."

"You should speak to Elboron," Faramir conceded. He had been close to answering for his son one way or the other, but it had never been Faramir's way to speak for anyway, least of all his "little boy," who had been anything but for many years. Though he hated the idea, perhaps, he thought, it would be beneficial for Elboron to spend a little time away from family as well as home.

He understood well enough that even those who loved each other unconditionally could drive each other to madness if they weren't occasionally on their own. It was so when he was young, so much younger, before either he or Boromir were so consumed with their duties, that at times they would come to shouting at one another over nothing at all. After Boromir took on more duties and longer, more frequent missions, they never argued again, not once. The same pattern was seen in so many others that Faramir had come to figure it out quickly: absence makes the heart grow fonder.

There was a certain defeat that Aragorn could distinguish in Faramir's eyes and it saddened him. He was certain that Elboron was well enough, and though it was clear that he was having a bit of time sorting some things out, that was quite normal for a man his age. Eldarion, though only just a fraction younger than Elboron, had yet to hit that stage, likely because of his Elven blood, Aragorn guessed. Aragorn knew, too, that it was only a matter of time before Elboron confided his struggle in someone. The only thing that bothered him, and likely was the root of Faramir's worry, too, was that it almost seemed that Elboron did not trust any of his family with his confidence as he always had. All things considered, Aragorn remembered when he'd gone through that very well, and he wondered if a forbidden love wasn't the source of Elboron's torment as it had been for him an age ago.

Before long, the three young sons of the three most powerful Men in Middle-earth all entered the hall together, looking quite hungry.

"Now, that's one thing that hasn't changed with age, Aragorn," Eomer said. "No matter how old a man gets, food is the first thing on hismind at this hour of the day!"


	10. Thinly Veiled Secrets

Three days were spent in Edoras before the four men decided to continue on and make the most difficult part of the journey, leaving the longer visit for the return trip, which would likely be in colder, less pleasant conditions later in the year. Faramir and Eldarion were just as willing to stay a little longer in Rohan and keep the pace leisurely, but both Aragorn and Elboron thought that it would be best to make as much progress on the road to Rivendell before they became too road weary. Additionally, it was rather an unknown just what sort of welcome there would be in Dunland and Aragorn wished not to put that off, preferring to deal with it sooner than later. Elboron himself was just getting tired of his cousin's watchful eye. It bothered him that he had been so loose-lipped after a night of drinking, for he knew that he could not let slip his secret for anything.

Elfwine suspected that there was more than just a typical fancy behind the half-admitted love Elboron mumbled about drunkenly one night, for any time Rohan's prince would mention anything to do with it, Elboron would quickly come up with something to change the subject. He decided that the matter wasn't his to press, and, figuring that the girl whose name he had been hiding so desperately, and slurred so badly that Elfwine couldn't understand it anyway, was unattainable for some reason, likely already betrothed, as that was the usual problem in such matters. Elfwine was hoping that his cousin would be able to resolve the dilemma through his journey and he looked forward to spending some time showing off his horse-handling skills when the travelers came back through later in the year.

Elboron was admittedly glad to get back on the road. So far, his plan to forget what he once was had not been working. He had himself convinced that all it would take was getting away from his familiar surroundings. It had been over a week, but his dreams were still of Harma and in Rohan he had been quiet frequentlyreminded of the lean stable master of Minas Tirith, all things equine being ever so prevalent. And so, he pinned his hopes on the ride north to Imladris, if not Imladris itself, providing plenty of distraction to keep him from thinking over-much on the one he loved.

Eldarion was intensely fascinated with Isengard and was interested in exploring a bit, although Aragorn was not the greatest supporter of the idea himself. He agreed, though, that they would do a detour on the return trip. Faramir himself had never seen Orthanc and couldn't help but wonder what stores of knowledge might have been left there by Saruman, though he dearly wished that he could first consult Mithrandir as to whether any of it might be useful for anything other than the sort of things the former-White Wizard had turned to.

Anonymity was a double-edged sword in Dunland. Just what sort of a reception the four travelers might receive was not guessable and so it was agreed that it would be best to just move through unnoticed. If push came to shove Aragorn was not above pulling rank in this case, though whether that would stop any attack or make it worse was not known.

And so vigilance was the order of the day for all involved. Elboron was grateful that watchfulness offered him a distraction from his thoughts of what he was trying so earnestly to leave behind, and when distraction failed him, that his family was attentive enough to their surroundings that they didn't notice it in him.

Dunland proved to be much less of a challenge than was guessed by any of them. Oddly, though, Elboron couldn't help but feel as if some eyes were on him whenever they went passed a village. He tried to suppress the flustered sensation it brought him when it seemed like the people were reading his thoughts… could they see how he still hadn't stopped thinking of Harma? Elboron reminded himself that his ada and daerada had been known for those things but still did not really see what was troubling him.

Nonetheless, they passed through Dunland swiftly and without incident. Next it was a short rest near Ost-in-Edhil and a question of whether it would be better to follow the Greenway up to Bree, rest there and go west to the Shire first, or to go directly north, following the river to Imladris. It was really a non-question in the end; Imladris was the first destination, hands down. From there they would make a side trip to the Shire, then return to Rivendell for a while before heading back home.

On evening after supper as Aragorn and Eldarion were lighting up their pipes (a habit Arwen had not been able to keep her son from, no matter how much she wished he would take after her in that regard), a thought came to Eldarion as he settled his cloak closer about his shoulders. "I suppose I should be getting used to the idea of becoming a big brother," he said stretching out by the fire.

Aragorn looked over at his younger son with a smile. "Learn from your brother," Aragorn entreated, "not my brothers!"

"Should he learn from me, adar," Faramir said, "he will really be learning from Boromir. He was my trainer."

"I would that he and I might have had more time to known one another, I always thought that we could have been great friends and collaborators," Aragorn said, taking a long drag on his pipe.

"I have often thought the same," Faramir said quietly. "Only you would have had to do a lot to win him over completely. He used to talk about what it would be like to have a king again, this was when we were children, of course. He would talk about all the great things kings are supposed to do, and how regal they are at all times, godlike really."

Aragorn grunted at the thought of all that nonsense, then turned broodingly and said, "I've done great things… and I can be regal, if I have to be, and -"

"Godlike as well, ada?" Faramir said chuckling.

"You set me up for that!" Aragorn accused, sulkily wrapping up in his cloak and curling up by the fire. "Just for that, your watch first."

"I have no trouble taking first watch…," Faramir said innocently. "It's the _elderly_ who need their rest."

* * *

After breakfast Harma followed Faramir (Belthil's assistant, Harma reminded himself every time the name was said) to where he would be working in Bergil's stead. Now more than ever he was beginning to wonder why they had ever asked him, of all the men in Gondor, to stand in the Captain's place. Faramir (Belthil's assistant) assured the young man that all he really needed to do was lend his name as officer delegate to any official paperwork that came through and keep logs, that it was only until Bergil's return, and that he wouldn't have to put in any public appearances whatsoever. There were official reasons why neither Belthil nor Faramir (Belthil's assistant) could put their names to the paperwork that made little sense to Harma, but he accepted it and sat down behind Captain Bergil's desk to try to get started. 

It wasn't until around lunchtime that he began to wonder what his father would have to say about this. Would he finally be proud that his son had been asked to assist with such an office? More likely he would be disappointed that it was only temporary and, as Bergil said, because no one else was available. Harma guessed his father would have disregarded what the Captain said about him being one of the few he trusted to stand for him, though Harma himself still did not understand why he'd said that either.

After lunch Harma told himself to stop worrying about his father while he was there in the Citadel. It mattered not what the old man would say, for Harma had been asked to help and he would do so, regardless of what anyone else had to say about it. The work was not overly daunting, though he found it very uninspiring. Keeping a stable might not be a great adventure, he thought, but at least he knew what needed to be done when and enjoyed taking care of the horses there. He found himself hoping that the lads would fare well enough on their own and he thought perhaps he could ask if someone might be assigned to help them.

Again, Harma took his supper with Belthil and Faramir. The Captain-General and his long-time assistant made sure to check on Harma frequently through the day to make him feel welcome and a little more at ease with his work.

"Well, we all put in a solid day… anyone care to join me in a drink?" Belthil said after devouring dessert.

Faramir declined and suggested that Harma go along to make sure Belthil got home all right.

"Don't need a keeper," Belthil pouted, unaware of just exactly how much he looked like his father when he did so. "Anyway, how about it, Harma? I should buy you an ale in appreciation."

Harma was about to decline also in favor of turning in early, but he decided to try to accept generosity with sociability for a change, instead of refusing it with humility. He liked these two and they seemed to like him as well, and Harma was starting to think that there was nothing wrong with having friends, even outside of one's station in life, after all.

Throughout the day and through dinner there was something about Belthil's outfit that struck Harma as odd somehow. It didn't hit him what it was until they were heading across the courtyard passed the fountain. "My lord," Harma said, "forgive me, but I believe your belt is done up backwards."

Belthil flashed a big smile at Harma and said, "yes, actually it is, but there is a reason for that – it is a signal, to those who know what it means."

Harma just looked confused.

"I'd tell you if I could, but… I'm not sure that you are… _qualified _to receive this information. It is restricted knowledge."

"Oh, naturally," Harma said, feeling a bit embarrassed. "I shouldn't want to pry at all, I just… well, I was taught that -"

"Oh, I know all of that. 'Uniforms are meant to be standardized in all things.' Those of us who belong to a certain _group_ use this to identify each other, a subtle signal that isn't really noticed by anyone else. Usually they just think we've done up our belts backwards."

"But how do you tell if someone is in the faction or just has done up their belt backwards without realizing it?" Harma asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

"Well, most of us know who we are. You can usually tell, though. I guess it's intuitive among us," Belthil said still smiling. Harma was only looking more perplexed. "You know, ordinarily I shouldn't be telling you any of this, we are very protective of these secrets. For the most part, we have to be."

"I apolog-"

"Don't worry about it!" Belthil said, slinging an arm around Harma's shoulders, surprising him with his gregariousness. "Let's get on to that ale."

"Captain!" the shouts rose as Belthil was seen entering the Merry Widow.

Belthil lifted his hand in a general greeting and guided Harma toward the quieter tables to the back of the tavern.


	11. True Nature

Elboron woke in the night after no more than a couple hours rest. He could hear his father shifting about, stirring the fire up just a little bit to keep some warmth in the cool night air. As the embers glowed brighter again, Elboron saw that his father's eyes seemed sad. That could only mean that he had been thinking of nana and Findiel again.

Elboron had no memory of his mother or sister but what his father spoke of, though it was rare that he did so. More often he heard the hushed talk of the notoriously nosey populace of Minas Tirith; to listen to them speak, Faramir and Eowyn were a very strange pair and did not get along all that well, for Faramir had always been gentle and scholarly, whilst Eowyn… well, at best it was said, by the more polite citizenry, that she had _tried _to fit in, and at worst those more curt used words like unsophisticated, uncouth, temperamental, and impertinent.

On the other hand, Faramir himself had said independent, unconstrained by Gondorian society's views, sincere, and, above all, willing to go to all lengths for what she loved. It was clear to Elboron that his father had loved his mother, even though he did not hide the fact that they did not always agree. It seemed to Elboron that his father wished so that there might have been more time for them to nurture the love that was clearly between them, while getting passed their inherent differences. Faramir mourned the loss of that opportunity greatly, even twenty years on.

Elboron could not tell if he was more like to his father or his mother, and he often wondered what it would be like had his sister lived, but it was usually around that point that he told himself to think of more realistic matters. On that night, under the awe-inspiring stars of the north which he had never before seen, Elboron's thoughts turned to so many who had he never known. His uncle, Faramir's beloved older brother, Boromir, father of his older cousin Belthil, had loved a woman who ran from the city when she learned that she was carrying the child of the Steward's heir. Boromir was never to know of what became of her, or that he had sired a son, and it was still unknown just why Imloth had fled Minas Tirith. Elboron's grandmother had fared no better, wed to a man whom she did not love and some secret love that was to be taken to her grave with her, one desperate escape had borne her a second son, not of her husband's loins. Elboron could not help but wonder if such tragedies of love were cursed upon his family for all time.

Elboron saw his father nodding beside the fire and rose quietly. "Ada," he said softly, "come and sleep. You should have woken me, I will watch for a time."

Faramir smiled at his son's concern for him. "I think I have grown unused to doing this. When I was your age I could take the entire night's watch by myself and still walk 10 leagues the next day. Sit by me for a while?" Faramir asked, hoping his son would be of a mind to do so.

Without a second thought Elboron took up at his father's side and nestled his head on his father's shoulder, the arm that was wrapped immediately about his shoulders so familiar a feeling. For a long while father and son were quiet, both savoring the notion of the other being so close again. For months Faramir had been worried that his son was growing apart from him. They had been so dear to each other since Elboron's birth that it hurt Faramir so to think that maybe his child was outgrowing that, for he certainly hadn't outgrown it himself, despite the fact that he was nudging 60 years.

"Ada… are you ever disappointed that I did not become a soldier or a ranger like you did?" Elboron asked quietly.

Faramir sat up, surprised by the question. He wondered if perhaps this was what had been bothering his son all that time. "Never, ion-nin, have I ever been at all disappointed with you. I was _thankful_ that you chose not a military life, though I would have supported you in any choice. It was not wholly my own decision that led me to command the Rangers in Ithilien, but as fortune had it, that was only 15 years of my life, and I have never been happier since I hung up my quiver. Never let any one tell you what choices you should make regarding your own life, my son."

Elboron looked into his father's eyes for a long while, as if trying to see to just what extent he meant that last statement. In his mind, Elboron was still unsure if his father's support would extend as far as he wished it might and even as he opened his mouth to elaborate, he found himself only able to embrace his father and say, "I love you, ada." Elboron meant deeply what he said, but he couldn't help feeling that now when he said it he was really trying to tell himself he couldn't let himself lose his father's love even for Harma's.

* * *

"And so, if she has half her hair in one braid from the crown, she is willing if you are." With a shrug Belthil concluded his dissertation on the braid codes used by the ladies who staffed the Merry Widow. He was certainly most well informed and Harma reckoned that he must have a rather interesting reputation, at least within the tavern itself. 

"How d'you know all'at?" Harma slurred, quickly getting a little too drunk. He himself would often stop by the Widow in the evening for fresh, cool water and he would talk to the barmaids and walk them home if they asked. He never knew about the "braid code" though, but now that he'd been introduced to it, he guessed that was because he wasn't quite interested in what the codes referred to.

Belthil chuckled, just as drunk as Harma, and said, "I spend _a lot_ of time here. Take after my father, I guess, only I'm not after… well, I like the _ale_ here."

Over at the bar on the other side of the room, one of the women was keeping a cautious eye on the table far in the back.

"Níniel," hissed one of the other maids, "you have got to calm down! The General comes in all the time, you know that. Sure, he gets just as drunk as any of the other men, but he's all right."

"It's Harma I am worried about," Níniel said softly. "This is the second time he's come in here and gotten that drunk. He usually only comes for fresh water." What Níniel did not express was her concern about the group of men who had just entered the tavern – the same group who had left right after Harma did the last time he had too much to drink. She was thankful that the Captain-General was drinking with Harma and only hoped one wouldn't leave without the other.

Unfortunately, it was not the two in the back of the room that interested one of the recently entered group. "Nice cold ale," the off-duty soldier approaching the bar ordered from Níniel. "And something more as well…."

Níniel wrenched away when the man reached over the bar and she felt his hand grasp at her hip. "You know the code," she practically growled. She moved away quickly to fetch the ale, but the man followed her to the end of the bar and gripped her arm tightly.

"I know your code, but you do not know mine… yet," he whispered, hot, heavy breath most unwelcome against Níniel's ear. He had been careful to wait until the barkeeper disappeared into the back room of the tavern, for he knew that the owner of the establishment would not brook such behavior, even from soldiers. Níniel panicked and all she could think to do was empty the mug of ale in her hand – onto the misbehaving soldier. It did not have the effect she had hoped.

Harma had glanced at his nearly empty mug and was wondering if he should have another or just call it a night when he looked up and saw five faces he had begged the gods he would never be forced to look at again. He was trembling and beginning to feel sick inside when he saw one of them reaching over the bar at one of the girls he often walked home. He saw the man follow her to the open end of the bar and grab her, and without really being aware of what he was doing, Harma got up and stormed toward the bar. He grabbed the other man's shoulder to spin him around and wasted no time delivering a blow that would have the man's eye swelling shut in moments.

Belthil was stunned for a moment as he watched what had just happened, but recovered and moved in immediately when the off-duty soldier tried to retaliate (and failed due to his own state of shock). Belthil quickly pulled Harma away, quietly telling him to calm down, before rounding on the soldier who was holding himself up against the bar and fairly steaming. "And as to you," the General said lowly, "I expect I shall never see such behavior from one of my men again. Two weeks suspension! If I see this again, you won't be wearing that sigil," Belthil said pointing at the now-beer-soaked white tree embroidered on each uniform's breast.

"Two weeks? For fighting!" shouted the soldier, most unwisely.

"Six weeks, then, and not for fighting but for conduct unbecoming a soldier of Gondor and for attempting to strike a superior officer, as well as insubordination," Belthil said calmly. He might have been _inebriated_, but it would never be said that he could not hold his liquor.

"Superior officer? But I never laid a hand on you, Captain!" the soldier said, stunned that his Captain-General would falsely charge him with such a thing.

"I am not speaking of myself, soldier. You attempted to strike Captain Harma when he, very rightly, corrected you for assaulting this lady."

"_Captain_ Harma?" the soldier seethed.

"You are dismissed, soldier," was Belthil's reply. "I want that uniform to be cleaned and turned in to the guard at the Citadel gate first thing in the morning. Six weeks." Belthil motioned for Harma to come along and together they headed out of the tavern. "I hate using insubordination like that, it's not the way I want to run the military, but sometimes, as in that case, there is nothing else for it," Belthil said to Harma. "I apologize for all that. And I feel like an ass not knowing that soldier's name, he has caused problems before though, if I remember correctly. I may have to mention this to the Queen if anything else occurs with that one, normally I would rather have my u… uhm… the Steward deal with it."

"I'm sorry I struck that man," Harma said, very quietly. "I was not within my rights -"

"You most assuredly were!" Belthil exclaimed. "And in fact, I thank you for being so keen as to notice what was going on. Anyway, I expect you are likely ready for bed anyway, used to all those early mornings in the stables."

Harma nodded, he was ready for bed, but little did Belthil know that a good number of his earliest mornings were in fact spent slipping out of Citadel with Elboron after a night spent in his bed. Oh, gods, but that thought was suddenly like taking just the sort of blow he'd landed back in the tavern. Harma swiped at his eyes as unexpected tears took him off guard. He was grateful that it was easier to hide at night.

"Good evening, gentlemen," said a man up the way.

"Master Damrod! Pleasant even'!" Belthil greeted the Ranger-turned-Healer.

Damrod nodded respectfully to the Captain-General. "And you, _Captain_ Harma, how are you faring tonight lad?"

Harma swallowed his momentary sadness and put on a slight smile for Damrod. "Quite well, thanks to your care," he said. "And, really, it's only a temporary title. I shall be returning it, hopefully undamaged, as soon as I am instructed to do so."

"You will be a credit to the title, especially if Belthil and young Faramir are there with you. Well, you lads look as tired as I feel, so I won't hold you up. Take your rest, it's the best thing for you, aside, of course, from fresh water. Goodnight, gentlemen!" As Damrod parted company with the two younger men, he couldn't help but notice the sadness that still seemed to linger in Harma, as well as the fact that a candle was suddenly doused in an upper window of a home there on the sixth level when the three met just outside the home. The former Ranger wondered if it wasn't just his hyperactive sense of caution stirring up again.

* * *

_ion-nin - my son_

_Apologies to my readers for the delay... life!_


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